


A Brighter Darkness

by mad2Bhere



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Size Difference, Size Kink, Slash, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 16:19:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad2Bhere/pseuds/mad2Bhere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Hawke grew up in Orlais to become a templar and eventually comes to Kirkwall as the Gallows' new Knight-Commander. M!Hawke/Orsino, featuring sarcastic!Hawke.</p>
<p>Hawke is not a bad templar but that doesn't mean he will be a good Knight-Commander. <br/>Orsino tries to be a good First Enchanter but that doesn't mean he will always act in his mages' best interests.<br/>They have to talk to each other on a daily basis but that doesn't necessarily mean they will ever be able to understand each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue/Turning Point

 

Prologue/Turning point

 

 

Malcolm Hawke has two choices when he needs to get out of the Free Marches with his wife and their unborn child.

There are two boats scheduled to clear the harbor the night he tries to leave the country, and both captains are willing to take additional passengers along, no questions asked, as long as they receive a generous compensation for their efforts. Both captains look trustworthy, both ships offer meager but modest accommodations, and in both scenarios the young family will safely reach their destination. There probably is no wrong or right choice.

But one of those ships is bound for Ferelden, the other for Orlais.

There is no reason to favor either of those places; he has no family or acquaintances anywhere, and no memories of living in either of those countries. Both destinations are so far away from the Gallows that they can be certain not a single one of Kirkwall's templars will be inclined to follow their trail.

If he chooses the ship bound for Ferelden Malcolm will have three children with his wife. They will be poor, they will be hunted wherever they go, but they will have each other, and they will be happy. Malcolm will be one of the few mages who will experience the joy of living with his family. No templar will end his life and no demon will ever erode his mind; he will die peacefully in his bed with the people he loves by his side, and when that day comes he won't have any regrets. His firstborn will eventually become the Champion of Kirkwall and will be loved and revered by the whole city.

 

A series of miracles can make it happen.

 

If he chooses the ship bound for Orlais neither Malcolm nor his child will have any of those things.

Of course Malcolm does not know that when he makes his choice.

He thinks he grasps the importance of his decision but he can't see the bigger picture, doesn't know about the role his firstborn is supposed to play. Doesn't know how many lives depend on his decision.

Doesn't know that he is the one who decides whether Varric's tale will have a happy ending.

But he is running out of time, and he has to make his choice now, or they will never get out of the Free Marches. There is just no time to think.

 

_In nine out of ten possible worlds Malcolm Hawke will pick the Fereldan ship._

But in this world he grasps Leandra's hand and leads his wife to the ship bound for Orlais. It's just a hunch, a gut feeling that compels him to do it, but he has nothing else to rely on.

He got this far because he trusted his instincts.

 

 

_And with this the fate of Kirkwall's mages is sealed._


	2. First Impressions

 

 

 

Chapter 1: First Impressions

 

 

_If Malcolm chooses the Orlesian ship, his firstborn will not be in Kirkwall during the qunari uprising. In their stead Knight-Commander Meredith will rise to defend the city but the Arishok will not acknowledge her. In the aftermath of the Viscount's untimely death some will turn to her for guidance, and others will cast away everything they believe in to stand against her._

_The absence of a true Champion allows Meredith to strive to for the Viscount's seat herself; but it might also serve to save some lives that would have been lost otherwise._

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

"You've got to be kidding me."

That was his first reaction when he stepped off the boat and into the courtyard of what was going to be his new home.

The very architecture did a remarkable job at convincing him that this had to be the most depressing place in all of Thedas, and that he really didn't want to be here; and that any apostate who tried to flee from this fortress was probably not a mad blood mage led astray by the promises of a demon who wanted to slaughter virgins and kittens for some Old God he revered, but rather a very sane individual who simply wanted to hold on to their sanity, thank you very much.

He should have been prepared for the massive iron chains that seemed to serve no actual purpose and existed solely for decorative reasons; it was the common theme in Kirkwall, after all, and the city obviously hadn't gotten the nickname "City of Chains" for nothing. One had to admit that they added a lot of character to the otherwise dull, white tower.

The weeping statues were completely over the top, though. From this up close he could see that whoever created them had put a lot of effort into it and had to be insanely proud of his work. The details were remarkable: They all wore the same face and lacked any individual features that would have proven they had been modeled after actual people; but the expression of suffering on their faces as well as the devotedly carved wounds they bore were just so realistic that he couldn't bear to look at them for long.

He wasn't familiar with this place's history, but this was just too much.

The whole place looked like a - not a prison, not really; even a prison had no need to intimidate its inmates and crush all of their hopes quite like this. Certainly not like a place where people should live and learn under the Chantry's caring protection. They had told him that this was what a Circle was supposed to be all about, and he used to believe that.

( _Someone else had told him that life in the Circle had been so horrible he would rather die than go back to that; but that had been a long time ago, and he couldn't even remember that man's face anymore.)_

It looked more than just depressing; he couldn't even begin to imagine how a young apprentice might feel who saw this place for the first time; they came here as children, scared and alone, burdened with a dangerous power they did not understand and suggestive whispers chasing them in their dreams. And in that situation someone - someone like him - would take them away from their parents and tell them they would have to spend the rest of their lives in a place like this, in this - whatever this was, not a home, not a Circle, not a prison -  

The Gallows. A more apt name had never been applied.

He was not surprised that Kirkwall seemed to produce more blood mages than any other Circle: Anyone forced to live here would have to go mad eventually. Not even the former Knight-Commander had been exempt from this rule.

He had stood here for half a minute at most and he already wanted to go back home, even though he hadn't come here as a prisoner.

It wasn't the first Circle he visited, nor would it be his last, but he wanted to treasure the moment he crossed the empty courtyard and entered the building. The real ceremony with Viscount de Launcet, the Grand Cleric and the speeches he would have to deliver would be later today, but as soon as he passed through the gates he stopped being a normal templar. Starting today he assumed full responsibility for hundreds of life: He would decide the fate of mages and templars alike, could continue things as Meredith had done or try something else; he could favor either the knights or the mages, or no one at all, being completely unpredictable. Everyone would have to answer to him, while he would answer to nobody.

From now on this would be his Circle.

Today he, Garrett Hawke, would officially become the Gallows' new Knight-Commander.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"The structure currently holds 150 mages, most of them un-harrowed apprentices, about 200 Tranquil and twice as many knights. We used to house a lot more mages but lost nearly half of our charges during the Qunari uprising. Some died in battle, others used the resulting chaos to escape and haven't been retrieved yet", Cullen explained as he led Garrett through the maze inside the tower.

The man had introduced himself as the current Knight-Captain and would be his second-in-command until Garrett decided to replace him. He had served as the acting Knight-Commander ever since the decision to displace Meredith had been made. He was a few years older than Garrett, had lived in this Circle for six years and had been Knight-Captain just as long.

In other words he was a much better candidate for the position of Knight-Commander than Garrett, and he probably knew. So far he had been cooperative and seemed to accept Hawke as a Commander; but he remained somewhat distant, reserved, and kept studying his face whenever he thought Garrett wasn't looking. Maybe he expected to see something special about him that would explain why they had decided to call on him instead of simply promoting one of the local templars. Still, he didn't seem intent on defying Val Royeaux's decision.

They might get along if Hawke didn't do anything royally stupid.

He had hoped Cullen would show him his own quarters first before giving him the full tour of the place; the journey from Val Royeaux had been tiring, and the prospect of having to climb the whole tower for the next three hours did nothing to improve his mood.

For some reason every hallway they passed was devoid of people. They passed neither templars nor mages. He had expected that at least a few of the tower's inhabitants would try to get a look at their new Knight-Commander, but no one seemed inclined to do so.

The only possible conclusion Hawke could draw was that everyone was avoiding him.

Oh well. Starting tomorrow that technique wouldn't work anymore.

"I'm afraid we didn't hear much about that particular incident in Orlais. Care to elaborate?"

"A few years ago the former Viscount allowed a group of about 200 qunari, led by their Arishok, to live in a small area near the harbor. They appeared to be peaceful at first, or at least not hostile, but last year they stormed the Keep, murdered the Viscount and most of Kirkwall's nobles, and succeeded in annihilating the entire city guard, leaving the templars as Kirkwall's last line of defence. Knight-Commander Meredith responded to the threat as fast as she could but couldn't prevent the massacre. We besieged the Keep for two weeks until we were able to reclaim it. Many lives were lost in the process, but in the end the Kinght-Commander was victorious."

"And then Meredith tried to convince the surviving nobles to appoint her as the next Viscount, and when they refused she snapped, didn't she? She went on a killing spree until the Grand Cleric caused the Divine herself to intervene, right?"

The Knight-Captain stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face him.

 "That is _not_ what happened", he declared and met Hawke's gaze head on. Hawke stared right back.

Eventually Cullen backed down first and resumed walking.

"But", his second-in-command continued after a while, intent on preserving the peace, "as much as it pains me to admit it, it is true that Knight-Commander Meredith... overstepped her boundaries. She lost sight of the templars' original objective and strove for worldly influence. In the end Grand Cleric Elthina reached the conclusion that it would be in the city's and the Circle's best interest to have Meredith replaced."

"I must say, I'm impressed, Knight-Captain. It's been a while since I've heard this many euphemisms in one speech."

He had meant no disrespect; he had thought that a little joke might help to break the ice. They would laugh, Cullen would realize that his new Commander was an easygoing guy, and everyone would be happy.

Hawke kept forgetting that, according to most of his friends and acquaintances, he was not funny.

 Cullen chose to pretend he hadn't heard Hawke's comment, and the two of them continued down the corridor in uncomfortable silence.

Hawke hoped he hadn't managed to alienate his most important subordinate on his very first day. He would need Cullen's support in the days to come.

Not many templars had been removed along with Meredith; just a few of her most trusted subordinates who had chosen to defy the Grand Cleric for their Commander's sake, twelve in total if he remembered correctly. Hawke on the other hand hadn't been allowed to bring any of his own knights from Orlais along; he stood alone against a sworn community. Some of them might not accept him as their Commander and try to sabotage him. He would have to figure out which knights were still loyal to Meredith and which ones could be trusted. If he succeeded in getting into his Knight-Captain's good graces he would gain an important ally for that task.

Hawke cleared his throat and tried to stir the conversation back to safer shores.

"So, tell me something about your First Enchanter."

"First Enchanter Orsino, yes."

Cullen appeared to be equally glad for the change in topic.

"Knight-Commander Meredith accused him of sheltering blood mages and aiding Circle mages with their escape attempts, but she failed to produce evidence. I can neither confirm nor refute her suspicions about him. Orsino, on the other hand, believed that Meredith was working on a long-term plan to turn all mages tranquil, and tried to undermine her authority by complaining to the Viscount and the Grand Cleric about her on a daily basis. Once he even tried to instigate a crowd against the templars. He is extremely protective of his charges and the former Knight-Commander believed he would do anything to avert danger from them. I fear Meredith's latest actions have made him additionally hostile towards us."

"Such charming people."

By now Cullen ignored his sarcasm effortlessly.

"Frankly speaking, we tried to have him removed from his position several times already, but considering that it's the mages right to appoint their First Enchanter themselves there was nothing we could do. I'm afraid you will be forced to work with him for the foreseeable future."

"Is there anything I could do to get him to cooperate with me?"

The Knight-Captain tried and failed to stifle a snort. That was all the answer Hawke needed.

It was also the only answer he was going to get, since Cullen stopped all of a sudden in front of an ornate wooden door.

"This is his office. We could continue our tour and return here later, or you may introduce yourself to him right now. I await your orders."

"In that case, let's get it over with."

He didn't feel ready to face this Orsino, but then again, he didn't feel ready for any of this. Everything happened so fast.

But as soon as he finished his official duties for today - meeting all the important people, holding three different speeches for the mages, templars and city folk, inspecting every nook and cranny of this blighted tower and confirming that there were no abominations hiding behind any of its doors - he would have the rest of the day for himself. He would need the time to settle in.

Cullen knocked twice before swinging the door open without waiting for a response from within. Hawke followed him when he entered.

"First Enchanter Orsino, this is the new Knight-Commander Garrett Hawke."

The man in question stood at the barred window with his back turned to them and had obviously been admiring the inappropriately decorated courtyard, but turned around to face them upon being spoken to.

First Enchanter Orsino was not what Hawke had been expecting.

He had been convinced that all First Enchanters were old men with long beards and a certain grandfatherly air about them, wearing hideous dirt-colored robes and sometimes those stupid big hats as well, the ones with feathers on top, which looked as if a bird had sat down on the Enchanter's head and _died_ there. In his experience their offices smelled accordingly, of old men and dead birds and musty parchment.

Orsino was - well, certainly not young anymore, but not yet old enough that one could get away with calling anything about him grandfatherly without insulting him. Hawke guessed he was most likely in his early forties, or maybe older than that but probably not by much, certainly younger than any other First Enchanter he had ever met or heard about. He wore expensive, intricate black robes that actually looked good on him and hugged his figure quite nicely. Hawke couldn't believe he had just had that thought about a First Enchanter, but he just couldn't help it.

Before they had sent him off there had been numerous briefings and discussions with Chantry personnel, veteran templars, nobles and other folk, and he had just asked Cullen about Orsino, but nobody had deemed it necessary to tell him that his very own First Enchanter was an elf.

Hawke hadn't even considered the possibility.

He had no problem with elves, he wasn't one of _those_ people. Quite the contrary, in fact. He liked elves. A lot. He thought they were pretty, with their wide, expressive eyes and their long, bat-like ears. Even the men were _beautiful_ in a way humans could never hope to be: Slender, delicate but not fragile, proud and strong despite being oppressed by humans for most of their lives.

There was that certain grace to Orsino's movements when he stepped around his desk to face them only elves managed to pull off - concise, deliberate steps, utterly sure of themselves. The way he walked, the way he stood, the way he held his head, everything about him was just... _perfect_ yet natural. It was a bit like watching an exotic animal prowl around in its cage. The sight was captivating.

He was tall for an elf, and barely had to crane his neck to study Garrett's face. He even smelled good: That certain smell Hawke couldn't quite place, something decisively elvhen, strange and _different_.

It just wasn't fair. This was the man he would have to spend most of his time with, the one he could never touch, and he was _fucking gorgeous_.

That was his first impression, anyway.

And then Orsino had to go and ruin it by opening his mouth.

"I heard some interesting things about you, Ser Hawke", he said by way of greeting. He pronounced "Ser" in a way that made it sound like an insult. "And I'm afraid this Circle has no need of your services."

"Oh? How's that?"

Garrett had a bad feeling about this.

"As you can see, I'm not an abomination and the walls of the tower are not covered in flesh and dripping with slime. You won't have to annul my Circle the way you tried in Ferelden."

Hawke was surprised Orsino knew about that.

It was actually a boring story: A few years ago there had been trouble at the Calenhad Circle, and its Knight-Commander had sent a message to its Grand Cleric asking for the Right of Annulment. Hawke and a few of his men had been in the area when they had heard about that incident, and had independently decided to assist the local templars with rounding up the mages. By the time they got there someone else had solved the situation, and Hawke had been forced to return to his original duties the very same day. He hadn't even done anything, but he understood why this little episode wouldn't endear him to any Circle mage.

First Enchanter Irving hadn't been too fond of him either.

"That was an exception. Most of the time I'm just-"

"- an apostate hunter. I know."

This really wasn't going well.

Orsino had investigated him.

Why hadn't he thought of doing the same?

"They sent you after apostates who have managed to destroy their phylactery and have been hiding from the Circle for years. You're the one who gets the job done where other templars fail. Apparently you even brought down a few Tevinter magisters while you were at it. You've killed more alleged blood mages in the last two years than other templars in their whole life. So tell me, Ser Hawke."

There it was again, that hissed "Ser" that sounded as if Orsino had tasted something foul.

"Why does Orlais send its most famous bloodhound to serve as Kirkwall's Knight-Commander?"

Cullen had been right. Orsino considered him his enemy by default.

And the elf was good. Cut straight to the chase without leaving Hawke a way out. From what Cullen had told him he had gathered that Orsino would take his position quite seriously, and he knew that relations between Knight-Commanders and First Enchanters were always difficult, but he hadn't been prepared for Orsino's hardly concealed disdain.

Honestly Hawke had wondered about why he had been chosen for this, too. He lacked the experience such a position required, hadn't even been appointed Knight-Captain beforehand, and wasn't familiar with this Circle at all. He had actually spent most of his time as a templar _outside_ the Circle, hunting apostates and abominations, and most certainly hadn't learned how to deal with such a discerning First Enchanter. No matter how one looked at it, he was the wrong person for the job. Orsino was right to question the decision to appoint Hawke.

But Garrett wasn't about to tell him about the sealed envelope containing additional orders he carried with him that would probably confirm some of Orsino's suspicions about him.

They had sent him here for a reason, after all, and part of that reason was the fact they needed someone discreet for this.

"I have a feeling we aren't going to become friends."

The mage narrowed his eyes at him. Admittedly Hawke could have found a better way to avoid the question; but Orsino's little welcoming speech had caught him off guard. They would have to work together in the weeks to come, and even though he hadn't expected Orsino to actually come to _like_ him considering the whole templar-and-mage business he had expected to be able to establish a wary truce.

But his sarcasm really wasn't helping with that. He should try to be more diplomatic about this.

"I'm going to be honest with you", he continued after clearing his throat. "I'm not what one would call a kind or lenient templar. I just stick to the rules. When any of your mages try to escape or dabble in blood magic they will be punished accordingly. Likewise, any templar that threatens or hurts a mage without my express permission will be held responsible for their actions. I won't tolerate abuses, and the Rite of Tranquility will be reserved for apprentices who wouldn't survive their Harrowing."

Now it was his turn to prove that he had investigated the Circle's situation beforehand.

Apparently Meredith's rule had been despotic. He knew for a fact that she had used the Rite as a punishment, thus violating Chantry Law, and that the mages' rights had been restricted in a way that bordered on cruelty. He needed to make Orsino understand that things would be different from now on, that he wouldn't be kind, but _fair,_ thus convincing the mage that it would be in his best interest to cooperate with him.

There was this thing about elvhen eyes. They betrayed every emotion of the person they belonged to, if one knew how to read them correctly. It was probably because of their size: A small motion that wouldn't be discernable in a human eye could be noticed in an elvhen one.

They usually turned out to be horrible Diamondback players because of that.

So Hawke knew that Orsino didn't believe him even before the man opened his mouth to respond.

"Empty phrases", he spat and leaned against his desk. "But if you're serious I would appreciate it if you lifted the order to confine my mages to their quarters. They have been imprisoned in their rooms for the last two weeks, myself being the only exception."

"Is that true?", Garrett asked as he turned to Cullen.

"It's standard protocol whenever a Circle is without an officially appointed Knight-Commander", the Knight-Captain answered instantly.

"Huh."

Garrett hadn't known.

There were probably lots of things he didn't know. He just hoped the two men hadn't noticed his surprise.

At least that explained why the hallways had been deserted.

"Well, I'm here now", he said and shrugged. "Let them resume their lessons as usual."

It was his first order as Knight-Commander.

He had ordered other knights around before, but that had mostly been during battle, hurried commands like "duck", "look out!" and " _kill it, kill it!_ " He had never had any real authority before. He wanted to see how Cullen would react.

"Understood." The Knight-Captain saluted. "We will have to alert the other knights first, though. If you would accompany me I could show you where the barracks are located and introduce you to some of our most trusted knights?"

Cullen accepted his decision just like that, without questioning him. Garrett could get used to that.

"Sure, that sounds good." With that he turned to look at his First Enchanter again. "Do you want to tag along and see for yourself that I'm not going to bully your precious little apprentices? "

"That won't be necessary. Just let me say one more thing", Orsino answered and took a step forward again so he could try to intimidate Hawke with his stare.

 It might have worked if Garrett's brain hadn't chosen this exact moment to decide that the elf's eyes were the most beautiful shade of green he had ever seen.

 Stupid handsome, angry mage.

"As this Circle's Knight-Commander you may have full authority over Kirkwall's templars, but that power is not absolute. Meredith failed to understand that as well, and if you visit the Keep's dungeon you can see where it got her."

"Am I supposed to interpret that as a threat?"

"Oh no, I wouldn't dare to go that far. Consider it a well-meant advice."

"Thanks. I appreciate it."


	3. Sense of duty (part 1)

Chapter 3: Sense of duty (part 1)

 

 

_If Malcolm chooses the Orlesian ship his firstborn will not come to Kirkwall in time to stop the blood mage Tarohne. She will succeed in turning multiple templar recruits into abominations and - just as she had intended - the demons in their own ranks  will make the knights lose their faith in one another. Unable to determine the true cause of the demonic possessions Meredith will ineffectively cull some of her charges to keep the others in line._

_There will be just one knight who suspects the threat may originate from outside the Gallows' walls: Eventually he will find the prostitute Idunna as well as Tarohne's hideout in Darktown and manage to save some of the captured knights. But because he lacks the support of his Knight-Commander he will be forced to face the apostates by himself, which proves to be a fatal mistake._

_Knight-Captain Cullen will be captured and tortured by blood mages for the second time in his life, and this time he will not recover._

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

When Garrett had been a young recruit he had dreamed of becoming Knight-Commander. It had sounded like - well, not exactly like _fun_ , he had figured it would probably be a lot of work - but like a path worth pursuing.

His own Knight-Commander at the time had been the strongest warrior Garrett had ever met. The man hadn't been kind to any of his subordinates, but his decisions had always been just and fair, and everyone - not just his own knights and mages but the general public as well - had respected him for it. They knew they were safe because he was there to protect them. The Divine would grant him an audience the very same day he requested it, and his opinion mattered to her. More often than not he would instruct the recruits personally; he had been the one to teach Garrett how to fight, what it meant to be a templar and everything else he knew.

To Garrett, that man was like -

_(- like the father he had never had; but he couldn't acknowledge that thought. After all he did have a father, and a pretty good one at that, even though it didn't feel right to acknowledge_ that _thought, either.)_

So maybe Garrett hadn't really wanted to become a Knight-Commander because the position itself had been appealing, but rather because he had admired his own Commander and strove to be just like him. Maybe he hadn't really wanted the responsibility but rather the _respect_ the rank commanded.

And maybe, just maybe, he had wanted to become Knight-Commander because he wanted to wear the shiny custom-made armor.

So maybe he _had_ wanted this for the wrong reasons. That didn't change the fact that it was _him_ sitting in Meredith's old office now, him and no one else; he would have to figure out a way to make this work. He may not have been the best choice for the position but he had faith in his own abilities and believed he would be able to pull it off.

 

Two weeks after he had come to the Gallows his way of handling things hadn't impressed anyone yet, but that was not necessarily his fault: He had been advised to abstain from implementing any new rules that would upset the Circle's daily routine for a few months. His superiors in Orlais - completely removed from Kirkwall's problems, without much insight into the Gallows' situation - had decided that what the knights and mages of the City of Chains needed most of all right now was _stability_. The City had just lost its Viscount as a result of a brutal siege and had its Knight-Commander replaced after a small civil war - and even its Grand Cleric had retired immediately after the business with Meredith had been finished. Every single one of those incidents had been a devastating blow to the City as a whole and its denizens. They would need time to rebuild and recover; cut their losses, mourn their dead and move on. Peace would return to the City eventually, but only if they let it: The worst Garrett could do in that situation was to stir things up again in any way.

" _Some semblance of order needs to be reinstalled_ ", was how they had phrased it in his orders, " _before any long-term strategies should be pursued._ "

So Garrett kept a low profile. He watched over and took part in the recruits' training, got acquainted with his knights and monitored the Tranquil with more diligence than strictly necessary. He tried not to meddle with the mages' education since he feared that would have guaranteed him daily shouting matches with Orsino, which would have undoubtedly threatened the Circle's peace; instead he chose to restore little privileges and freedoms the mages had been deprived of under Meredith's rule  and granted most of the First Enchanter's requests to keep the elf satisfied.

Garrett spent most of those first two weeks either cooped up in his office reading reports or dealing with similar paperwork, or out on the training grounds with the younger knights. He declined every single dinner invitation he received by Kirkwall's nobility that was not linked to his official duties as Knight-Commander, and whenever he did meet Viscount de Launcet and his advisors he was polite but demure, offering his opinion when asked but clarifying that he had no intention of interfering with Kirkwall's politics.

He knew it was necessary even though it was boring and tedious, knew that it was in the Circle's best interest to continue this routine for a while; but that didn't mean he had to _like_ it.

Garrett wasn't accustomed to such work. He knew how to track down apostates and abominations in the woods, the mountains and remote villages and he had been good at that: The hunt had been his _life_ , and now that life had been taken from him to be replaced with something else, something that had sounded nice in his head but had turned out to lack any of the aspects of grandeur he had imagined. He had wanted to be a Commander, yes, but not like this, not when he didn't actually _got to do anything_.

But he followed his orders, no matter how frustrating they might be, and resigned himself to his fate.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Three short knocks on the door to his office and a calm, controlled voice announced his visitor: "Ser? May I enter?"

"Come in, Cullen", he called and sat up straight in his chair. There was a muffled acknowledgement from the other side of the wood before the other man entered. He made sure to close the door behind himself as silently as possible and stood at attention in front of Garrett's desk, waiting to be prompted before he spoke; courtesy rather than subservience.

Hawke had spent more time with this man during the last two weeks than with anyone else; but they still hadn't figured out how to deal with each other. Cullen was always polite and respectful whereas Hawke was his usual charming, amiable self - and yet they both remained distant, uncomfortable in each other's presence, not quite strangers but not trustworthy colleagues either, and most certainly not friends.

Cullen obeyed his orders but indicated that he disapproved of some of them; Hawke asked his Knight-Captain's opinions quite often but usually disregarded his advice. Cullen feared that his new Commander didn't take his job seriously enough; Hawke thought his Knight-Captain was no fun.

They were wary of each other, and that wasn't going to change any time soon.

Cullen cleared his throat. "Ser, I have come to talk about the apprentice Sophie Brynn. She has not been harrowed yet even though she has come of age a few months before the qunari attack; eventually a decision concerning her future needs to be made."

"I see. I'll ask Orsino about it later this afternoon."

"Would you like me to attend this meeting?"

"No, I believe we'll be able to handle it ourselves. Thanks, Cullen."

With a wave of his hand Garrett dismissed his second-in-command, who saluted and excused himself again. The whole conversation had lasted forty seconds at best. Hawke didn't even bother to make a snarky remark before Cullen fled the scene; he actually _preferred_ immersing himself in his paperwork to engaging in light banter with the other man.

That fact in itself said a lot about their relationship, or rather the lack thereof.

 

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

There weren't many ways for Hawke to have fun around the Gallows. As Knight-Commander he was supposed to set a good example for the other knights even when he wasn't on duty, which meant he needed to be on his best behavior at all times. He couldn't go to one of the City's numerous taverns when he felt like it, couldn't participate in the City's more frivolous festivities and he most certainly couldn't play a practical joke on his Knight-Captain no matter how badly Cullen needed to unwind. So whenever Garrett spotted an opportunity to enjoy himself he took it, completely disregarding any potential consequences.

Which was why he didn't wait until evening to speak with Orsino, when the elf would be back in his office, but rather chose to look for him immediately after his conversation with Cullen. He knew that his First Enchanter would give lectures or oversee the apprentices' lessons at this particular time, but he had no way of knowing where exactly the elf might be: So he stalked the corridors of the tower's lower levels where the Circle's numerous classrooms and libraries were located, opening doors and peering into rooms at random. Normally there was no reason for the Knight-Commander to come down here even though he had every right to, and none of the mages expected him to just show up all of a sudden.

It was fun, watching the look of abject horror on someone's face when they turned around and saw _the new Commander_ looking over their shoulder to see what they were up to. Whenever Hawke entered a classroom everyone present fell silent and stared at him, unmoving, unblinking, like little animals hoping the dangerous predator would just walk away if they pretended to be inanimate objects. An apprentice practicing his fire spells panicked and lost control of his magic as Hawke set his eyes on him and smiled encouragingly, accidentally setting his instructor on fire. Ice magic ensured that the man would get away with nothing worse than a singed beard, but no one seemed inclined to continue to lesson even as Hawke left.

One senior enchanter actually _shrieked_ like a little girl as he rounded a corner and nearly bumped into Garrett, dropping the books he had been holding and throwing his arms into the air as if he had been caught doing something illegal.

They were _afraid_ of him, even though Garrett couldn't fathom why; he didn't even do anything, he was just _there_ and smiled and greeted everyone he met, but the mages acted as if he was the Archdemon itself. It made him feel a little bit lonely.

Eventually it was _Orsino_ who found _him_ first: While Hawke was busy scaring little children out of the library a delicate, gloved hand gripped his forearm and proceeded to bodily drag him away from his charges.

" _What do you think you're doing here?_ ", Orsino hissed as he led Garrett to one of the lesser frequented sections of the room. He looked like he was trying very hard not to shout or set Hawke on fire. " _You have no right to disturb the apprentices' education. Inspections without prior notice may not be conducted by the Commander himself; I_ will _make you answer for this to the Grand Cleric._ "

So much for having a little bit of fun.

And Garrett had thought it was Cullen who took things way too seriously.

"I needed to talk to you", Garrett explained. "It's important and there was no one in your office, so I went to look for you. Nothing wrong with that, is there?"

"You are certainly... ", Orsino sighed in exasperation. " _Fine_. I will accompany you to your office. But if I _do_ find out that you're harassing my people then Maker help me, I _will_ relay this incident to her Grace and ensure that you will be sent back straight to Val Royeaux."

"Good. Then that's settled. After you."

The elf huffed indignantly and stormed off in the general direction of the knight's quarters. He set a brisk pace, forcing Garrett to jog after him if he wanted to keep up.

Ironically the sight of the two of them prowling the corridors _together_ unsettled the general public a lot more than Hawke could have managed by himself: Men and women jumped into the nearest room to avoid getting into their way, and excited whispers followed them as they climbed the stairs to both of their offices.

"So", Orsino began as they reached the destination, defiantly opting to remain standing in the middle of the room even though Hawke offered him a chair. "What is this grave matter that requires my immediate attention?"

The mage was cranky and obviously not in a good mood, but by now Hawke had come to accept that as part of his personality. After all, Orsino was never in a good mood when Garrett was around.

He decided to cut straight to the chase. "This morning my Captain told that we have an apprentice who is way past the acceptable age to be harrowed. I believe Sophie was her name. Is that correct?"

"Yes, I know the apprentice you speak of. It is true."

"Why didn't you bring this to my attention? As far as I know, that's your responsibility and not Cullen's."

"I'm sure you are aware of the fact that Kirkwall has faced many troubles during the last year and a half. The situation inside the Circle has been chaotic. Her case must have slipped my mind, among other things."

" _Right_ ", Hawke drawled. He had his doubts about this particular excuse but chose not to comment on it.

The choice to commence an apprentice's Harrowing could be their death sentence if the person in question lacked the necessary talent or strength of will. The only alternative - apart from execution or permanent incarceration, which everyone considered to be barbarous nowadays - was the Rite of Tranquility, and many mages believed that the Rite was a death sentence all on its own. Usually an apprentice would be harrowed when their instructors deemed them ready to face the challenge, or forced to undergo the Rite if they were deemed dangerous or volunteered for it. But for the rare cases in which none of these scenarios came true there was also a time limit: When the apprentice reached a certain age a decision would have to be made for them to ensure they wouldn't pose a threat the Circle's other residents.

It wasn't uncommon for the respective First Enchanter to try and postpone the final decision if he doubted his charge's skill and felt like he needed to protect them. He hadn't thought Orsino would resort to such childish strategies, but it wouldn't be surprising, all things considered.

"Well, then let's decide her fate", Hawke said and moved to sit behind his desk. He looked up at Orsino with a smile, and produced a blank piece of parchment from one of his drawers. "The Harrowing or the Rite? What's it going to be?"

It was silent for a seconds while Orsino considered his options.

"Are you seriously asking me to give my opinion?", the elf asked eventually. Calm and softly, as if he wasn't sure what to make of this development.

They both knew that Orsino had no say in this.

The First Enchanter could be prompted to make a suggestion, which the Knight-Commander could choose to take into consideration, and both of them would have to sign the order in the end; but it was the Knight-Commander who would have to make the final decision and who could be made responsible for it.

That was the law.

"No, I'm not", Hawke said and held Orsino's gaze.

He wanted to catch the exact moment when the elf would grasp his meaning, when his assessment of Garrett would change. During the last two weeks he had always been considerate and forthcoming but he hadn't earned Orsino's trust yet. Then again those little favors hadn't actually meant anything: This was the first time someone's life might be on the line.

Hawke continued. "You know this girl better than I do, and I'm certain you are also more familiar with the specifics of a Harrowing. You can tell whether she's ready or not, I can't. So the only rational way to deal with this is to let you make the decision. Of course I'll assume full responsibility no matter what happens. Tell me what you think is best, and we'll do it."

For some reason that speech caused Orsino to become wary of him. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked down on Garrett coldly, as if there was some spell he could cast to look inside Garrett's mind (Which of course he couldn't: That sort of magic would require at least one human sacrifice, and Hawke hadn't seen Orsino gut anyone on the way to his office). The elf didn't trust him, and was probably convinced Hawke was trying to fool him.

"And why would you suggest something like that? What do you stand to gain? What do you demand in return?"

"Nothing at all. I merely wish to demonstrate my goodwill."

Orsino looked like he was about to object to that and he probably would have, if Hawke hadn't beat him to it. When the mage had lifted his arms he had realized something, a tiny little detail that had previously slipped his notice; but now that he _had_ noticed it there was no way he could refrain from commenting on it.

"You wear the gloves of an Orlesian Chantry sister", Garrett scoffed.

" _I beg your pardon?_ "

Hawke had managed to catch the elf off guard; he snickered as Orsino self-consciously tried to bury his hands in the sleeves of his robe. Judging by the way he attempted to bore holes into Garrett's skull with his gaze he was currently trying his hand at a spell that would make Hawke's head explode.

He was awfully attractive when he got all hot and bothered like that.

It probably wouldn't be a good idea to tell him that straight out, though.

"Alright, sorry, that was uncalled for, I get it. Please continue with whatever you were going to say", Hawke pleaded while raising his hands in a calming gesture. After a few more seconds of silent staring Orsino managed to recover and started talking; but Hawke didn't miss how he shifted in place uncomfortably every once in a while.

"Very well. In that case I ask for Sophie to be harrowed. Her studies have been progressing fairly well, and I believe she possesses the mental strength necessary to face her demons. I am positive she will persevere. Do you have any objections to that?"

"None whatsoever. Your wish is my command. I'll set a date and choose a handful of knights to oversee the ritual. I'll inform you about all the details when everything's settled."

"Very well. I'll hold you to that."

Orsino threw another meaningful look at him before he turned around swiftly in a flurry of black and gold robes, intending to leave.

"Ah, wait! Don't go just yet! You have to tell me what I'm supposed to do!", Hawke yelled and nearly jumped out of his chair in his hurry to stop the mage.

When Orsino turned around, he elaborated.

"It's my first time overseeing a Harrowing. I'm aware that the two of us are supposed to prepare the ritual beforehand - or rather, you need to prepare the ritual while I watch over you as you try to attract demons in the Fade, but that's about the end of it. I need to know how long that's going to take and whether you need any supplies for it."

Orsino looked thoughtful for a moment as he mentally went through the necessary steps.

"There is not much to it. I am going to enter the Fade where I will set up a safe perimeter to commence the trial, blocking any possible exits that would allow Sophie to escape without defeating her demon. That is the challenging part; compared to that calling a demon will be easy. As I manipulate the Fade, I will be mostly defenseless to any demons that might try to enter my mind; your task will be to pull me back as soon as you notice anything out of the ordinary about my condition. Naturally, I will need a considerable amount of lyrium to do all that: The pure, unrefined type that is reserved for rituals and some potions to preserve my mana... about thirteen should suffice, I think. We'll need to start our preparations at dawn if we want to be ready by nightfall; twelve hours should be enough for me to finish all that."

"Twelve hours?", Garrett echoed incredulously. No matter how he looked at it, that sounded like an awfully long time for anyone to work in the Fade.

"Twelve hours", Orsino confirmed. "That sort of magic is not exactly my forte, and that's how long it's going to take for me to set everything up. You would do well to expect having to spend the whole day in the Harrowing chamber with me."

With that Orsino grinned wickedly at him, as if he thought Hawke might consider being stuck in one room with the elf for an extended period of time to be a horrible ordeal.

Garrett suddenly realized that this was the first time he had seen Orsino smile. Or do anything else but scowl or frown, for that matter.

"I look forward to it", Hawke replied with a grin of his own.

 

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

The Harrowing chamber was a huge circular room without any windows. It was pitch black unless one brought a torch or a mage capable of conjuring an artificial light along; but even with this kind of illumination most of the room was still covered in darkness. The walls reflected the echo of their footsteps: The soft, smooth padding of Orsino's leather boots and the rough, hard clanking of Garrett's armored feet.

Normally a Harrowing chamber was supposed to be devoid of any furniture or vain decorations to ensure there was enough space to perform the mages' various rituals - but this _was_ the City of Chains and this was the Gallows they were talking about, so Garrett wasn't really surprised as his gaze came to rest upon the ten larger-than-life marble statues lining the room. Compared to the weeping statues on the Gallows' courtyard these were not quite as creepy. The people depicted weren't malnourished slaves: They wore elaborate robes and each carried their own unique staff, marking them as magisters. Each one of them extended one hand towards the center of the room; whether in greeting, warning or worship, Hawke wasn't sure.

The statues would have been an awe-inspiring declaration of the strength and prowess of the old Tevinter Imperium if their heads hadn't been cut off.

Every single one of Garrett's predecessor's had tried to remove the statues at least once, but because of the powerful enchantments protecting them this was all they had managed.

This was where they would commence the girl's trial, in a dank, windowless room surrounded by headless statues.

"What _is_ that?", Garrett wondered out loud as he followed the First Enchanter into the chamber.

He hadn't been referring to the place's unusual architecture.

As soon as he had passed the threshold he had felt it: Suddenly it got a lot harder to breathe as if there was something stuck in his throat or the air had grown too thin. This was what a templar experienced when he wandered into a place where _the veil was thin_ , as the mages put it. It was certainly no pleasant sensation but one Garrett was vaguely familiar with, so he wouldn't have thought twice about it. But there was something else as well, something _wrong_ , something that shouldn't be there because it _wasn't,_ not really.

 

_Hands._

Cold, invisible hands cradling his face and caressing his hair like a lover's touch. He couldn't see anything but he felt them all over his body, tugging at his armor and finding their way beneath his clothes to claw at his naked skin. It had to be hands since he felt _fingers_ , bony knuckles stroking and fondling him. His body temperature dropped rapidly, and he instinctively wrapped his arms around his torso to shield himself.

"Long ago, when the magisters ruled the city and kept their slaves in this building, they used this room for their more elaborate rituals", Orsino explained.

"Blood magic?"

"Not exclusively, but yes, what you are experiencing are the lingering effects of advanced Tevinter magic. I know this is easier said than done but you have to ignore the sensation. It will only get worse if you focus too much on it. Remember that blood magic can and will play tricks on your mind."

The First Enchanter kept a straight face as if this didn't face him at all; but since Garrett watched the slender elf very closely he noticed his stiff posture and drawn-up shoulders.

"Is it safe to practice the Harrowing in this environment? Won't this influence the trial?"

The mage raised one of his eyebrows at him. "A Harrowing is _never_ safe for any of its participants, Ser Hawke." After a few seconds he sighed and admitted: "But you are correct, these conditions are far from favorable. Whereas you and your knights merely experience a slight discomfort," - Hawke grunted at that - "the apprentice and myself will be much more susceptible to demonic influence. Yet I'm afraid this is the only place in the whole tower where one can easily access and manipulate the Fade, and therefore the only place where a Harrowing _can_ be performed."

"I really don't understand why no one tore this wretched place down and build a new tower for the mages."

"Because that would require money the city doesn't have. Feel free to petition the Viscount and the Grand Cleric if you want, but you shouldn't expect anything to come from that."

The blue, unnatural glow of the mage light cast an eerie glow on Orsino's face: The elf's skin appeared to be even paler than usual; from up close his skin looked almost sickly.

It didn't take long for the First Enchanter to notice that Garrett was studying his expression.

"Anyways", the mage said with a frown as he distanced himself from Garrett, "we should begin our preparations."

Hawke nodded, and they parted to perform their respective tasks. With great care Hawke set the goblet filled with lyrium up on the pedestal in the middle of the room while Orsino proceeded to draw a complex magical circle on the stone floor. There were leftover traces of other, older circles on the stone, much older ones, and unlike Orsino's own they had probably not been drawn with chalk.

That was all they had to do on this side. The next part would be a lot more difficult and potentially dangerous for the both of them.

"So let me get this straight", Hawke said as Orsino straightened, "you are going to drink this stuff and doze off to do your business in the Fade while I watch over you to make sure you don't have any nightmares?"

"I suggest you take your role more seriously. If you fail you will have to deal with a First Enchanter abomination, and I'm sure that scenario is one both of us would rather avoid."

The mage joined Garrett next to the lyrium goblet. He held Hawke's gaze for a few seconds - and once again the elf's expressive eyes betrayed his emotions. There was no fear, but a fair amount of worry and apprehension, and with good reason. Orsino had to trust Garrett with his life, and probably feared that Garrett barely knew what he was supposed to be doing.

But of course Hawke's old Commander had explained the ritual to him: He knew what his task entailed,at least in theory.

"Don't worry. I got your back", he proclaimed with confidence.

Orsino frowned but didn't say anything. Eventually he nodded with determination and reached out for him. Garrett had thought he would grasp the goblet and continue, but instead he just offered his hands to Hawke.

Confused, Garrett inspected the elf's upturned palms. Orsino wasn't wearing his gloves today, so Hawke could see all of his fingers instead of just the two that were normally left exposed. They were long and slender and looked soft to the touch, unlike Garrett's own callused ones. Much paler too; Gallows mages didn't get to see the sun very often.

He had no idea what Orsino wanted him to do, and told him as much.

"Meredith used to bind my hands for the duration of the ritual, just in case."

Just in case they failed and Orsino succumbed to a demon. Enchanted handcuffs that would seal his magic wouldn't do when he was supposed to manipulate the Fade, and simple ropes wouldn't be able to keep an abomination constrained for long; but they would buy Garrett time to strike the First Enchanter down without risking his own life.

 

Time he might need.

 

"Well, I will do it if you insist, but I don't think it will be necessary. I have no intention of failing you."

For some reason Orsino appreciated this display of confidence more than the last.

"Alright, let us begin."

The mage wasted no more time. He took the cup and brought it to his lips. Hawke saw the liquid touch his mouth for the briefest moment before he set it back down.

Garrett stood and stared at him, waiting for something to happen. He searched for some sign that the mage would enter the Fade even though he couldn't have said for sure just what he was waiting for; the individual reaction depended on the mage in question as well as the immediate circumstances of their entrance to the Fade: Inexperienced apprentices usually simply toppled over and started snoring as if they really were asleep; practiced battle mages started glowing and gesturing wildly, their bodies imitating some of the motions they made in the Fade; and some enchanters were supposedly capable of performing simple tasks using their physical body even though their minds were elsewhere. It was all about _control_ , somebody had told him once.

The only change Garrett could note was that Orsino's eyelids fluttered closed and his breathing slowed. Other than that he didn't move. He kept standing upright, stiff rather than calm and relaxed.

Garrett had to make sure.

"Orsino?", he asked while prodding the mage's chest with his finger.

There was no answer. Hawke had to assume that the mage had passed the boundary and was in the process of travelling the Fade (whatever it was he was doing there - Hawke had never entered the Fade consciously, wasn't allowed to, and didn't know what to imagine). Immediately he started counting the seconds, starting at twenty to account for the time he had spent contemplating whether Orsino was still there with him or not.

Ten minutes, that was what they had agreed on beforehand: Long enough to allow for some preparations while at the same time minimizing the danger. Demons _would_ notice the elf when he entered, but enchanters generally knew some techniques to obscure their presence, so that the chances to fall prey to an evil Fade resident were relatively small, as long as they didn't linger for very long.

And therein lay the problem: Technically it was possible for mages to escape the Fade on their own, but that was time-consuming and required the person in question to put some effort into actively searching for an exit, but Orsino didn't have time for that. Garrett would have to call him back when the time limit was up and hope that he didn't have an additional passenger on board when he did.

Hawke waited and counted, all the while studying Orsino's expression, searching for any sign of discomfort. If something went wrong, if Orsino was attacked by anything it would show on his face, and Garrett would have to intervene before his time was up.

One minute passed without any visible change, then two, then four, five.

The sound of his own breathing was the only thing Hawke could hear. He tried to ignore the ghostly hands caressing his body just as Orsino had suggested, but doing so proved to be intensely difficult when there wasn't much else to focus on.

Nothing happened at all.

When the time was up Hawke called his First Enchanter back with a weak Cleanse; the magic Circle Orsino had drawn ensured that this disruption of - of what really? The flow of magical energy? There was probably some long, complex term for it but no mage could be bothered to explain the specifics of their spells to a _templar_ of all people - that this small disruption was sufficient to pull Orsino back into reality. The elf took a deep breath before opening his eyes, like a diver that had found his way back to the surface, and looked up at Garrett with minor confusion, as if he hadn't expected him to be there.

"Everything all right?", he asked with concern.

"Just a bit... disoriented. Give me a moment to get my bearings."

Hawke didn't object; he was supposed to let the mage rest for a few minutes before he sent him off again, anyway. His eyes followed Orsino as he paced around the room for a while, before he stood next to Hawke again.

 "Going back already?", Garrett asked as he reached for the lyrium again.

"I would rather finish this as soon as possible."

And with that the whole process repeated itself. Ten minutes in the Fade, a short break of perhaps five minutes, then back into the Fade.

To Hawke that meant: Ten minutes of intently staring at Orsino's face, then a short opportunity to attempt a conversation with the tight-lipped elf and alleviate the boredom, and then back to staring holes into Orsino's skull.

And they would continue to do this until nightfall.

 

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

"This is stupid", Garrett complained after the first three hours. "And dumb. And impractical. And _boring as fuck_."

Orsino had asked for a longer break this time; Garrett had agreed and promptly excused himself to wander the tower a bit. He was used to standing at attention for hours at a time, but he still enjoyed moving his body for a bit. Being able to escape the suffocating Harrowing chamber for a few minutes was an added bonus.

So when he returned it was with some reluctance. He pushed the door open with his shoulder and squeezed himself through the opening. Orsino already stood at his assigned place and narrowed his eyes as if he was about to scold Garrett for letting him wait, before he spotted the various objects in Garrett's arms.

"What is that?"

"Leftovers from breakfast. Thought you might be hungry."

"That is..." - a short pause as the elf sought for the right phrase, and Garrett prepared himself for a scathing remark - "very considerate of you." The words were laced with suspicion, as if he expected the food to be poisoned.

Garrett hadn't managed to scavenge that much: There were a few slices of bread and the old, smelly cheese he had been served at every breakfast for the last two weeks. But he presented the little bit of ham he had gotten his hands on with some pride: He guessed that Orsino normally didn't get much meat since most of it was reserved for the templars.

"In Orlais I could have gotten you some fruit to go with that: Apples, peaches, pears, figs, whatever you wanted. Maybe some wine as well. I was surprised when I came here and one of the Tranquil told me that this Circle doesn't waste any money on what he called "unnecessary luxuries". I guess I just took a lot of things for granted. It's mostly during meals that I remember how much I miss my own country", Garrett laughed, setting the tray down on the floor next to where Orsino stood. The First Enchanter hesitated a little, before he bent down and inspected the goods.

"I never thought I'd hear a _Knight-Commander_ complain about the food here. You are invited to try the apprentices' rations for a few days; it would be interesting to have this conversation again afterwards."

"Oh no, I'd rather not. I've seen the desolate faces of your mages when they realize it's Thursday again and the Tranquil cook up this grey, formless gruel for them. Every time they have to eat that it looks like they're dying a little bit inside."

Orsino chuckled a bit at that and Hawke reveled in the small sound. For a short moment the elf looked calm, almost relaxed in his presence - before he reverted back to his usual reserved self.

"What else is different in an Orlesian Circle?"

It wasn't an intimate question, not even a personal one, just idle curiosity. But usually Orsino would block Garrett's attempts at light conversation in favor of ignoring him when they had no Circle matters to discuss; so Hawke answered readily.

He had the unconscious desire to try and impress Orsino.

"Well... once every two months the Divine comes to visit. Nobody knows exactly when though, so the templars have to train every day for that event. If we perform well enough during training we get to stand in the front row when the Divine inspects the troops. Sometimes she notices one of us and allows them to join their personal guard. It's the highest honor one can receive."

"So, you met the Divine?"

"Ah, no, not quite. I was always in the back, I've never even seen her. I just had to believe the others that she had been there at all. They only choose the best to present them to her Grace. And apparently I'm not one of the best because my family hasn't produced a significant number of chevaliers... I've seen lots of pictures of her, though."

"You're not from a noble family, then?"

 There was something off about Orsino's voice as he made that inquiry, but Garrett couldn't really tell what it was. The mage aimed for levity, tried too hard to sound disinterested. There was a hint of apprehension - maybe - like he had been intending to ask this question - or a similar one - for a very long time now.

But it was certainly possible that Garrett was imagining all that; this was not a topic he enjoyed talking about, so there was a chance that his paranoia made him notice things that weren't even there.

There wasn't even that much to tell.

 

_I don't know anything about my mother. But my father was -_

"Oh, didn't I tell you before? I'm an orphan. The Chantry raised me."

 

It wasn't a lie; maybe a lie of omission but not one that mattered in this particular context. Still, it had been the wrong answer.

When Orsino replied with a curt "I see" and nothing more before focusing on the food once more, opting to end the conversation, Garrett felt like he had failed some sort of test.

They ate in silence after that, intent on avoiding eye contact.

Garrett was almost relieved when Orsino proclaimed he was ready to continue his preparations, and they hurried to reassume their respective posts.

Ten minutes, then five, then ten again - minutes stretched into hours, repetitive and tedious, and Garrett found his concentration wavering more than once, his mind straying to more pleasant sceneries. Hours of doing absolutely nothing but staring at the mage's expressionless face dulled his concentration. He chastised himself for that weakness since Orsino was depending on him, but there was just no helping it: He was getting tired.

But if he was tired, Orsino was positively exhausted way before they were even halfway finished. The constant strain from forcefully entering and exciting the Fade took its toll on him and manifested itself physically, even though the stress was purely mental in essence.

Garrett could see that his control was slipping.

During his next venture into the realm of demons immediately after their meager breakfast it was obvious he wasn't able to stand stoically in the middle of the room anymore. He swayed back and forth dangerously, stumbled even, nearly tripping over his own robes a few times. It was a bit like watching a drunk – no, worse: a young toddler that had just started to learn how to walk.

When Hawke called him back ten minutes later the elf staggered backwards as if he had been hit. Hawke was by his side immediately, ready to catch or support him in case he fell - which was clearly the wrong choice, judging by Orsino's angry look.

"I am no brittle old man", he snarled, "so don't even think about offering me your arm."

Garrett was forced to back off, but even from afar he could see the sweat forming on his brow, hear his labored breathing, watch how his hands trembled uncontrollably as they clutched the lyrium potion Garrett had handed him; he looked like he was in _pain_ but refused to admit it.

Any normal, non-magical person would have been poisoned by the amount of lyrium the mage had to ingest; even a templar would have turned into a babbling imbecile. Garrett supposed it worked differently for mages, but even a First Enchanter should suffer severe headaches by now.

Hawke tried offering him longer breaks or at least a chair to sit on but Orsino declined every time.

The mage didn't allow himself to show any weakness.

Sometimes it was almost like he didn't come back completely even though Hawke used a Cleanse on him. On that occasions he didn't seem to recognize Hawke or even register his presence; the elf just stared right through him, or at a spot somewhere above Garrett's right shoulder, and didn't react to his voice. Usually he overcame this stupor after a few seconds and apologized for being a little absent-minded - but it took him longer and longer to do so, and Hawke seriously began to doubt he would last the whole twelve hours.

"I've done this countless times before", the elf reassured him. Hawke's disbelief obviously insulted him. "If this ritual was easy you wouldn't need a First Enchanter to perform it, right?"

He _was_ right.

The Chantry and the templars didn't trust regular mages or even enchanters with this task, which was why it was just the two of them in the Harrowing chamber. (Garrett on the other hand _could_ have brought some of his knights along; but courtesy dictated that the Knight-Commander shouldn't rely on his subordinates when the First Enchanter couldn't do the same.)

A First Enchanter was supposed to be a Circle's most talented mage, able to perform ritual magic with ease - and, by extension, the only one permitted to study ritual magic in the first place. It was a difficult task, dangerous too, and the magical theories they had to rely on dated right back to the age of the old Tevinter Imperium. Most of those texts were banned, inaccessible for a Circle mage, so Orsino had to make use of the few scraps the Chantry would give him. It took an insanely gifted mage to master this kind of magic.

In most cases a lack of talent could be compensated by experience, by wisdom that came with age, which was why most First Enchanters were, well  - old men.

For some reason Garrett hadn't noticed it before. Orsino was too young to possess the knowledge the position of First Enchanter demanded, so Hawke had just assumed Orsino had to be a naturally talented mage. But that couldn't be the case: He wouldn't be here, in an old slave tower in some forgotten province, if he was truly gifted enough to become a First Enchanter at his age. They would have shipped him off to Orlais where he could have received a better education.

 

Orsino lacked both, talent and experience.

 

This ritual was too much for him. That was why it took him so long to complete it, and why Meredith hadn't wanted to take any chances with him.

"How _did_ you become this Circle's First Enchanter?", Garrett wondered. "Why didn't they pick someone else?"

Orsino didn't reply, but then again Hawke hadn't expected him to. His mind was currently elsewhere, after all. The templar was just speaking to himself to pass the time until the mage would open his eyes again.

 

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

In the end it took Orsino nearly thirteen hours.

Night had fallen when the elf finally allowed himself to collapse. Immediately after he had announced that he was finished he dropped to his knees with a soft moan, as if all power had left his body.

"Everything's ready", he gasped; it sounded like he had trouble drawing breath. "Go and get your knights."

Now they could commence the girl's Harrowing.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Four of the five knights Garrett had chosen for the task of overseeing the apprentice's trial were among the Circle's elite. Most of them had years of experience, and Meredith had considered some of them her most trusted subordinates - up until the moment they had turned on her. When she had tried to take over the city they had refused to follow her, instead choosing to organize a riot.

Although that had technically been an act of insubordination they had stood up for what they believed in, and that impressed Garrett. Earning their trust might be worthwhile, but first Garrett would have to test them to see whether it would be prudent to trust _them_.

The first one of this group was his Knight-Captain Cullen. Hawke still hadn't completely given up on befriending his second-in-command, and the first step to that end would be to spent more time with each other.

The second one he had chosen was Ser Karras, an apostate hunter just like Garrett, albeit one with somewhat questionable achievements. A few years ago there had been an incident with some mages who had been sent to the Gallows from the Starkhaven Circle: Twenty-five men and women, elves and humans of all ages, had been hiding out in a cave near the so-called Wounded Coast, where Karras had found them. He claimed they had used blood magic on him and his knights so there had been no other choice but to kill them all, without exception. That story sounded plausible enough on its own; but Garrett had checked Karras' reports from the last few years and had discovered that something similar happened every single time Karras found an apostate: The knight had killed them all under the pretence they had been blood mages or abominations. Either this man was complete rubbish when it came to negotiating with escapees or he murdered innocents for fun. Either way Hawke might have to assign him to a new post. Garrett would have to observe his reaction to the girl's Harrowing closely.

Then there was another man who had something in common with Garrett: A bloodline burdened with the curse of magic. When Ser Thrask's daughter had turned out to be a mage he had sheltered and kept her hidden for years out of a foolish desire to protect her from life in the Circle. Of course that story hadn't ended well: She had tried to run away from her overprotective father just to fall into the hands of slavers. They had abused her, pushed her too far, and got their punishment when the girl turned into an abomination and ripped their heads off. For two days the abomination had terrorized Lowtown before the templar hunters - again led by Ser Karras - had managed to put her down. They found a letter addressed to Thrask on the body, and the father had received a multitude of punishments and demotions for sheltering a dangerous apostate. But Hawke wanted to give him another chance, for his own sake rather than Thrask's, because he felt like someone had to prove that one could still be a good templar even though one had magic in his family.

The fourth one was the man Garrett trusted the most out of the lot of them. He had served at Kirkwall's Circle for nearly two decades, and had turned out to be absolutely loyal. Right now he served as an instructor for the new recruits, but he also had experience with hunting apostates and dealing with the Tranquil. The other knights respected him, Meredith had been wary of him during her last years even though Garrett hadn't been able to find out why, and he was easy to talk to. Hawke liked him; in case he would have to replace Cullen as Knight-Captain Garrett would probably choose this man for the position. That man was Ser Alrik.

A young blond boy - Keran - was the fifth co complete their little group, the one Garrett had tasked with killing the apprentice in case she turned into an abomination. That task was some sort of initiation for a knight; Garrett had noticed Keran's skill during training and decided he was ready to face his first true battle, even though he hoped it wouldn't come to that.

 

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

Those five knights were already up and waiting for him as he reached their quarters in the evening. Garrett contemplated asking them to follow him when he went to get the apprentice; but then he remembered that the mages were scared of him and thought about what a young girl might do upon being woken up in the middle of the night by six older men in full armor... No, that would not end well.

So he led his knights to the Harrowing chamber and ordered them to wait there while he and Orsino fetched Sophie. He hoped that the presence of her First Enchanter, of another mage might calm her so she wouldn't panic.

Together they moved through the apprentice's dorm as silently as possible, trying not to wake anyone up. It was one of twenty identical dorms (the old slave tower had no shortage of rooms) that housed forty beds for apprentices of all ages and both sexes. Garrett saw the Circle's youngest mages - children of perhaps five or six years old who had just recently been ripped from their mothers' arms - huddled together on a single bed in the corner, clinging to each other as they slept.

Somewhere in the distance a boy was talking in his sleep.

Hawke wanted to investigate where the sounds came from but Orsino motioned for him to keep on moving, so that was what he did. Eventually the First Enchanter stopped in front of a bed at the very end of the room and pointed down at its occupant, identifying their target.

Sophie Brynn was a human girl in her early twenties with short, shoulder-length red hair. There were countless freckles on her face and the one hand Garrett could see, the one that hugged her blanket to her chest. Hawke wasn't sure but he thought he had seen her in passing before – the three weeks he had spent in this Circle hadn't been enough to learn the names and faces of all of its inhabitants.

"Sophie", Orsino whispered to her as he bent down to shake her shoulder as gently as possible, "Sophie, you have to wake up."

The girl groaned and stirred after a few seconds; bleary eyes opened and focused on the elf's face; Garrett had chosen to stay a few steps behind and lurked in the shadows, intending to let Orsino explain the situation to her.

It took her a few moments to recognize Orsino and when she did her eyes went wide.

"F-first Enchanter!", she gasped. With big gestures Orsino motioned for her to stay quiet.

"You need to listen to me, Sophie. We don't have much time." With that the mage knelt down next to her bed so they could see eye to eye. He glanced back at Garrett, who merely shook his head: _Don't tell her too much, you mustn't spill Chantry secrets._

Sophie's eyes followed Orsino's gaze. Then she saw Hawke too, and tried her best to stifle a scream.

"I must ask you to accompany me to the tower's peak. We're going to commence a trial that will determine whether you will become a full-fledged mage. Please, get dressed as quickly as possible, and don't make too much noise."

The Harrowing was one of the Circle's closely guarded secrets; no apprentice knew the specifics of the ritual or when theirs would take place. But of course there were rumors; there was always one apprentice who had seen a group of templars whisk one of their friends or colleagues away in the middle of the night - friends and colleagues who were dead come morning.

" _No. No, no, nononononono_ ", the girl whispered desperately. "No, First Enchanter, please, I'm not ready, please give me more time, don't -", the rest of the sentence died in a violent sob as she realized that the two men weren't going to change their plans.

And then she did the one thing Hawke's old Commander hadn't prepared him for, the one thing nobody could have prepared him for. He had no idea how to behave, merely stood there and watched, dumbstruck.

 

She cried.

 

Her sobs continued until tears began to fall. Sophie buried her face in her hands and turned her head away when they did - a childish defense mechanism to avoid facing the situation and exposing her weakness to the two men. But even in her state of distress she heeded Orsino's command to stay quiet; the small sounds she made wouldn't wake anyone else up.

"You don't have to be afraid, my child", the First Enchanter said and reached out to stroke her sleep-tousled hair. "Everything will be alright. I will be there, nothing is going to happen you. Believe in yourself, and there will be nothing to fear." The elf sat down on the mattress next to her and took one of her shaking hands into his own. That simple act of kindness was all it took for her to break down completely; she flung herself at his chest and pressed her tear-streamed face against the front of his robes, clinging to him like her life depended on it. Orsino moved his hands to her back to embrace her, all the while whispering soothing but ultimately meaningless phrases in her ear.

Garrett just - stared.

It was the first time a woman had ever cried in his presence. He didn't know what to do, or whether he _should_ do anything: The way Orsino held her was too intimate, too personal, like a father comforting his daughter; anything Hawke could have done would have been an intrusion. It felt like he had no right to even witness this scene.

The elf on the other hand seemed to know exactly what he had to do. He talked to her in a subdued voice, kept calling her name and stroking her back. He was gentle, and patient, and understanding.

Garrett had never seen Orsino like that before.

 

It was surreal: This man who never had a kind word for Hawke, who alternated between threatening and shouting at him, who refused to accept his help – when he was around his mages he was a completely different person.

 

No, that probably wasn't it, that wasn't it all: There was no contradiction, it made a whole lot of sense when one thought about it. He had to fight and mistrust Hawke _because_ he was a good person at heart. The First Enchanter that opposed and alienated the templars did so because he loved and protected his people. That appeared to be an important revelation, but Garrett didn't know what to make of it just yet.

 After a few minutes Orsino had managed to calm her down. She was able to let go of him and stood, walking over to the other side of the room to change behind a small partition.

The two men waited in silence. Garrett was still contemplating this new facet of Orsino he had just discovered as he noticed that something was off about the way the elf behaved now. Orsino had sounded so sure of himself when he had talked to her – the wise, reliable First Enchanter – but now that she couldn't see him anymore he frowned and wringed his hands as if he needed someone to reassure him as well. The mage flinched as Garrett's hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed it gently; he hadn't expected the touch and didn't welcome it, either. Any reassuring words Garrett might have had for the elf died when Orsino wordlessly shook his hand off.


	4. Sense of duty (part 2)

The sight of the five knights in the Harrowing chamber - and probably the sight of the Harrowing chamber itself - did nothing to alleviate Sophie's fear. She had never strayed far from Orsino's side on their way up, but when she passed the threshold to the ominous room she reached for his hand, and he grasped hers without hesitation.

"Now", he explained as he led her past the row of men to the lyrium goblet. "You have to drink or touch the lyrium to enter the Fade. Once there you will encounter a demon. In order to complete your trial you will have to defeat it."

This was all the advice a First Enchanter was allowed to give an apprentice.

"Remember", Garrett elaborated. "Not all demons will attack you on sight. Some may try to deceive you and earn your trust, making you vulnerable. Don't trust anything you see there. Believe in yourself, and nothing else."

"What happens if I fail?", she asked, and her voice trembled.

"The demon will claim your body and turn you into an abomination. If that happens my templars will have to slay you."

"Oh", she exclaimed, and there were more emotions in that one syllable than Hawke could distinguish.

She tried to look brave as she grasped the goblet, but her hands were still shaking; she couldn't keep it steady and spilled a few valuable drops. Orsino had to help her bring the cup to her lips. Hawke couldn't see what happened since the elf's head was blocking his view – the First Enchanter exchanged a few hushed words with his apprentice, and the Knight-Commander should have reprimanded him for that –  but a few moments later she stumbled backwards and toppled down like a felled tree. Karras confirmed that she was asleep, and the men hurried to assume their positions.

Garrett, Orsino and the senior knights formed a circle around her. Keran stood in front of the others, facing her, his sword already drawn since he had been chosen to deal the finishing blow in case Sophie failed. Hawke was a few paces behind him, ready to support him in case of an emergency, with Orsino at his right side and Ser Alrik at his left.

"What kind of demon responded to your summons?", Garrett asked.

"Desire", Orsino replied. Karras groaned, but otherwise refrained from commenting.

Desire demons rarely fought fairly. They resorted to trickery, tried to trap their prey in illusions that would either please or scare them, and claimed them when they were at their weakest. Naturally that method took time, and it took even longer for an apprentice to see through that scheme.

They could be standing here for hours.

 

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

Time passed. Garrett wasn't sure how much; it was hard to keep track of time when one was trapped in a torch-lit room without any windows to allow natural light to enter. The fact that he had already spent most of the day in this room overseeing a mage travelling the Fade didn't exactly help.

He kept casting sideway glances at Orsino. Between the end of his own ritual and the start of Sophie's Harrowing he'd had some time to recuperate, but Hawke doubted that had been enough to recover from his Fade-walking. The mage had to be tired even though he didn't show it.

They were forced to rely on the noises inside the tower to determine how much time had passed. Every two hours the knights patrolling the lower levels were relieved of guard duty by some of their comrades. This was accompanied by hurried steps, armored feet clanking on the hard stone floor, and could be heard even in the Harrowing chamber. Those were the only noises disturbing the nightly silence.

When this happened for the third time Hawke noticed his knights getting restless. Their hands went to the hilts of their swords and Karras started moving, circling the apprentice like an animal on the prowl. Keran shifted nervously.

Hawke couldn't detect any change in Sophie's condition. Did the other soldiers see something he didn't?

"She's been in there for more than five hours. I guess we can safely assume she's been ensnared", Alrik said.

Garrett nodded sadly.

If the demon had decided to battle her a victor would have been determined in less than an hour. If it had kept itself hidden, forcing Sophie to come find it, it would have certainly taken her longer to complete her trial – but even in that event she should have been finished by now. The fact she was still struggling meant the demon had managed to confine her in a fake dream. She was still herself, she hadn't lost yet, but she couldn't find her way out of the world the demon plunged her in.

Or didn't want to.

"Commander, your orders", Karras prompted. The hunter circled his prey, ready to strike as soon as Hawke said the word. That was when Garrett realized.

"Did Meredith set a time limit for the trial?", he asked his Knight-Captain.

Cullen nodded yes. "The former Knight-Commander believed that after spending five hours in the Fade a mage's chance of survival were too slim to be worth the risk, and I concur, Ser. I have never seen an apprentice return safely after this much time passed."

Thrask considered this for a few seconds and added: "It would be cruel to let the girl suffer any more by forcing her to keep enduring this nightmare; ending it now would be merciful."

"The longer such a trial takes the less likely it is for an apprentice to survive. Better to be safe than sorry. She is probably lost already, anyway", Karras declared.

It was well within the Knight-Commander's rights to end the trial prematurely if the situation demanded it. If the apprentice in question practiced blood magic or the trial took too long the demon had a chance of undermining the mage's mind without their templar guards noticing.

The knights themselves would be in grave danger.

If a demon had overtaken Orsino during his ritual earlier that day and Garrett had failed to call him back in time his transformation would have been slow: The elf would have fought, struggled to hold on to his sanity; he would have screamed and shouted in anguish as his skin turned grey and blotchy and the magic distorted his face. It wouldn't have taken long, twenty seconds at most, but at least Garrett would have had some time to prepare himself and strike first.

If a mage didn't fight for some reason – because they were a twisted blood mage who welcomed the demon or a hapless apprentice who had been fooled into believing whatever the demon wanted them to believe – the change would happen in an instant: One moment Garrett would be looking down on a sleeping apprentice and the next an abomination would try to rip his throat out. There would be no time, no warning, and if Garrett wasn't fast enough he would lose his life.

Or in this case Keran, who stood closest to Sophie.

"The girl got her chance. It would be foolish to put our lives on the line for her when we already know she won't come back", Alrik said.

The threat was real; and yet there had been never been a need to set a time limit for the Harrowing in Garrett's old tower. An Orlesian Circle housed enough templars to task dozens of knights – trained just for this purpose – with watching over one apprentice. With that many people there was little danger.

Right now there were six of them.

One of them was a young boy who hadn't been a knight for very long and who had yet to face his first battle; another was an old man who hadn't fought in years and who couldn't be expected to react fast enough; and two others were hunters, skilled when it came to dealing with abominations but also accustomed to working in a group where they had their set tasks – they might not be as effective when they fought alongside different people.

Cullen and Alrik would probably be able to hold their own in a battle; but there was also their First Enchanter who was still weakened from his own ritual – if no one protected Orsino he wouldn't be able to defend himself.

Letting Sophie continue her trial was tantamount to risking these men's lives.

And if what the others said was right and there was already no chance of Sophie returning safely anymore... he would risk them _needlessly_.

A good Commander would know immediately what he had to do.

Still, Hawke hadn't expected his Captain to suggest it, let alone all of his knights to go along with this plan. Thrask and Alrik weren't quite as eager for blood as Karras was; Thrask swallowed hard but didn't oppose the others (Garrett wondered whether he thought about his daughter who had been a few years younger than Sophie when she died – a horrible thought), whereas Alrik was obviously bored. Even Keran was - although not comfortable with his role - ready to perform his duty. And Cullen was –

Cullen looked like the whole situation didn't faze him at all.

Garrett was taken aback; he just couldn't understand. They were talking about murdering a helpless young woman who was trying her hardest to stay alive, about killing her in her sleep, and no one thought twice about it.

He had expected Orsino to shout and rage at the mere suggestion  - but the elf was oddly silent, and didn't even look up when Garrett sought his gaze.

This was the man who had beseeched him for _hours_ to let some enchanter who wanted to study mud and rocks make a short excursion to the Wounded Coast just last week – and now, when a girl's life was on the line, he said _nothing_. It didn't fit Garrett's image of Orsino.

They all acted like there was nothing strange about this suggestion at all.

None of them could know for sure what Sophie was experiencing in the Fade right now. They could make elaborated guesses based on previous experiences and predict what the most likely outcome might be; but there was no way of confirming their suspicions.

It might be too late for Sophie, but it might not be. She could still make it.

"We wait", Hawke said. He didn't even consider the alternative.

"Ser?" Keran looked back at him in confusion, uncertain what to do.

"What? Why?" Karras sounded honestly disappointed.

"Is that wise?", Thrask wondered.

Alrik grumbled something inaudible.

"Commander, with all due respect –" That was Cullen.

All of that happened at once: Garrett couldn't distinguish most of his subordinates' voiced reactions, but there was one thing he did understand: He had never faced this much opposition before.

"We wait", he repeated, and some of the noise died down. Keran relaxed his grip on his sword somewhat, and returned to waiting patiently for a change in Sophie's condition. Thrask didn't seem to mind obeying his order, either.

The other three, however, were different. Garrett had Alrik's undivided attention now, and there was something off about the way the knight's eyes inspected him; it made him uneasy. Karras sheathed his sword with visible reluctance but didn't reassume his position in their small circle, instead opting to keep walking around Sophie.

"Ser Karras. Get back in line", Garrett ordered, but the knight chose to pretend he hadn't heard his Commander. Hawke would have called out to him again – but in the meantime Cullen had left his position to march over and face Garrett, intent on backing his opinion up with more arguments.

"Commander, I ask you to reconsider", the Knight-Captain insisted. He met Hawke's gaze straight on, and there was something in his eyes that said he wouldn't back down before Garrett retracted his order.

Up until now, Cullen's silent disapproval of Garrett's decisions had been just that – _silent_.

"This is a mistake", he beseeched Hawke. "I understand this is a hard decision to make, but please, you have to give the order to end the trial. It's the only way."

The way Cullen said "It's the only way" sounded like Garrett didn't really have a choice in the matter; the Knight-Captain wouldn't step down until he acquiesced.

His Knight-Captain, who had always been the perfect subordinate, who had never disobeyed him, stepped forward to oppose him now.

 

 

_But why?_

_Why choose this moment?_

"He's right, Commander. This is how it's always been done in the Gallows. Even our First Enchanter knows that. You'd do good to remember that you need to watch out for your knights before your mages, _Knight_ -Commander", Karras said. It was impossible to overhear the underlying threat.

That was when Garrett realized that he had maneuvered himself into an extremely dangerous situation.

These templars had already defied and betrayed one Commander. The reason for Meredith's fall hadn't been the Divine's twenty pages long letter of dismissal but the fact that her knights had refused to follow her when she had tried to take the Keep.

She had discovered that even a Knight-Commander was just one person if no one supported them. Garrett believed it had been devastating for her to turn around and realize that she was all alone, that the army she had grown used to relying on was nowhere to be found.

These were the men who had refused to die for a cause they didn't believe in; and Garrett had wanted to test them. It hadn't occurred to him that they might be testing him as well, to determine whether he was a Commander worthy of being followed.

If these knights refused to obey him now, if Cullen challenged his authority, if Karras moved in to kill Sophie, if Alrik did whatever went through his head right now – what would happen then?

There were five of them and only one of Garrett: All they had to do was ignore his order and there would be nothing Hawke could do about it. But what would happen afterwards? Would they still acknowledge his authority, or would they only heed his commands when it suited them? Would he be a Commander in name only afterwards – or no Commander at all?

And what would that mean to the Circle as a whole?

It would mean that he failed his mission, or at least that he wouldn't be able to accomplish it, either; and Orlais would take action. They would call him back and – what? Replace him? No, if the second Knight-Commander failed so soon after the first Orlais wouldn't send another – that much was certain. But just what _would_ Orlais do?

Garrett had two options now.

He could back down, listen to Cullen's arguments and let himself be convinced, condemning Sophie to death. That option would be safe: they would think him an ignorant, inexperienced knight (he was ready to admit that this was the third Harrowing he had ever taken part in), and they would understand. Garrett would lose face, but that would be all.

Or he could stick to his decision and shout Cullen into submission. If the Knight-Captain refused to be culled Garrett could draw his sword, remind them that he was their Commander. He could threaten or fight them it that was what it took.

And then he would have to face the consequences, whatever those might be.

Garrett thought about Sophie's tears and about Orsino's gentle support. He thought about his own first Harrowing and the relief he had felt when the mage had passed his trial. He thought about his old Commander and what he would have done in this situation.

And he thought about the hunted man who had always smiled and joked when there was someone around to watch him; the kind, funny man who had looked over his shoulder in fear every once in a while as if he expected his pursuers to be right there behind him.

 

(" _You must never trust a templar. They don't see us as people."_ )

 

" _We wait_. That's an order, Knight-Captain. Get back in line."

Cullen had just opened his mouth to speak again when Garrett interrupted him like that. He stopped dead in his tracks, like he had expected Hawke to back down from this little pressure. Realizing it would take more than that he hesitated, contemplating whether to press the issue.

"I won't repeat myself a fourth time", Garrett said in a voice that marked his words as final.

Cullen looked over to Karras for support, but the older knight only had eyes for the apprentice right now. This was just between the two of them.

The other knight opened his mouth to speak, and Garrett interrupted him yet again. "I am this Circle's Knight-Commander, not you! Do as I say, Cullen, or I will find someone else who will."

Garrett didn't really get this man, but then he didn't get any of the people inside this room.

Everyone had chosen a side, and Garrett was all alone on his.

It was impossible to tell what Cullen was thinking when he spoke again.

"This is a mistake", he repeated, but eventually he added: "Understood."

Without another word he turned away to get back to his designated spot, and motioned for Karras to do the same. The older knight reacted to his Captain's prompting immediately – even though he had ignored his Commander earlier. Garrett followed them with his eyes and only allowed himself to breathe again when they were back in line.

He just hoped he had chosen correctly.

Somewhere to his right someone cleared their throat.

Garrett turned and noticed a pair of green eyes watching him intently. They were beautiful even ( _or especially?_ ) in this light - little emerald gems in the semi-darkness, shining brightly as they reflected the pale light as well as their owner's emotions.

The elf nodded without breaking eye contact.

The smallest gesture and yet so much more, a secret message aimed solely at him. Garrett could see gratitude, but also understanding – and a wary kind of trust, the kind a stray cat displayed when it was offered food by someone for the very first time: Like an animal that feared its trust would be betrayed, but that had to bet on the small chance anyway. An animal that might be willing to tolerate being petted as long as one provided adequate compensation for this display of vulnerability. And if everything went well Orsino would sit in his lap and _purr_ for him in a month's time.

 ...That was where the metaphor got a little strange.

Still, it was a start.

Garrett clung to that small gesture because it was the only reward he was going to get.

 

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

Just yesterday Garrett had explained to Keran how he was supposed to react in case Sophie turned into an abomination. Apart from overseeing the boy's training himself he had given him two pieces of advice, the same ones Garrett's Commander had given him before his own first Harrowing.

The first advice was a tactical one that would ensure his victory. It was the basic strategy for dealing with abominations.

"Silence. Smite. Sword. In that order, and in quick succession."

Silence to keep the monster from casting any spells and hold the demon's consciousness at bay, rendering it completely motionless for a few seconds. Then a Smite to knock it off balance when it charged at the knight, and a sword to the neck to end it while it was still reeling. In most cases this would be all it took, and if it wasn't there would be other knights to assist him.

But Garrett's second piece of advice was even more important than this.

What would determine Keran's chances of survival were not his skills with a blade or his mastery of holy magic – none of that would matter if he failed to draw his sword in the first place.

"Abominations aren't people."

It should have been obvious; yet there were knights would forgot this basic truth. There were knights who looked at a blood-thirsty, blotchy monster and saw the girl they had met in the tower a few times, or a casual acquaintance, or worse: A friend, or a past lover, or a brother, or a sister.

Or a father.

"They aren't people, so don't hesitate to draw your sword. If the girl transforms she will be a girl no longer. You will only get one chance – and you absolutely _have_ to strike first, or the monster _will_ take your head.  You don't have to feel guilty about it. They are vicious demons, vile creatures and nothing else. Don't ever forget this."

He had learned this lesson the hard way: Lives had been lost because he had hesitated, and he was determined not to let anyone else repeat his mistake.

"I know you realize this, but I'm going to say it anyway: This is your Harrowing just as much as it is Sophie's. This is your trial, and if you fail you might lose your life. In my experience an abomination usually attacks the closest person as soon as it manifests, and that will be _you_."

He paused for effect.

"And we're going to let it."

The young knight's eyes widened in fear.

"After all", Garrett continued. "It wouldn't be much of a trial if we jumped in to save you before you even had a chance to prove yourself. The other knights and myself won't interfere unless you prove to be incapable of performing your duty. Of course we don't want you to lose your life; we will step in when it looks like you won't be able to deal with it yourself, but we might not be fast enough. Do you understand me, Keran? You will be on your own, at least for the first few strikes."

At the end of his short speech he handed Keran the sword he was supposed to wield during Sophie's Harrowing. Its enchantments were no different from those of a normal templar blade; but it was tradition for the Knight-Commander to gift his knights with a new sword for this occasion.

"I've seen that you're able to defend yourself; that's why I chose you for this. I know you can do this. Just don't forget that your life is on the line."

It never occurred to him that Keran might not need this reminder.

He didn't know that the boy had faced one abomination already.

Cullen knew; but the Knight-Captain believed those experiences would give him strength.

They had both persevered, after all: Cullen had survived  - twice over - and he had learned something invaluable from those lessons. He had talked to Keran immediately after he had saved him from Tarohne, had explained, comforted and encouraged. He thought he understood better than anyone else what the young knight was going through, even though they barely knew each other.

The Knight-Captain had sworn to himself that he would never give a mage the benefit of doubt again, and he beseeched Keran to adopt the same attitude.

The boy had listened to his Captain's advice, just as he listened to that of his Commander, but neither found the right words to prepare the boy for what he would have to face.

 

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

Garrett had been wrong.

He had been wrong about his knights' loyalty, about Cullen, about Orsino, about Sophie, about Keran, about _absolutely everything_. He hadn't made just one mistake – that would have been forgivable – he had made _dozens_ of them.

The men had known they couldn't afford to lower their guard around the sleeping apprentice, they thought they had taken every precaution and never took their eyes off her; and yet they weren't _ready_ when it happened.

Just as they had feared there was no warning before the demon took the last step and claimed Sophie. Her hand twitched once – her last act as a person, and one that was missed by nearly everyone present – and then her hand was gone, replaced by a black claw that hurled an ugly, disfigured body off the ground.

As predicted it charged straight for the heavy doors – and consequently at Keran and Hawke, who stood between the monster and its first and final chance to be free. The demon had bet its life on this opportunity.

The boy had one second, maybe even less time to react before the monster would be upon him – the other knights wouldn't be able to reach him in time.

Still, to Garrett it felt like it took hours before anything happened; the whole world slowed down.

He could see his knights drawing their swords and reached for his own. Next to him Orsino gasped and took a step backwards. The monster howled and readied a spell in its right hand as it went for Keran's head.

The only one who didn't do anything was Keran.

Garrett saw nothing but his back and his trembling shoulders, the way his legs shook and threatened to give out beneath him; but it took him too long to realize that the boy didn't act because he _couldn't_.

He was _scared_. Plain and simple.

His body had frozen stock-still because his mind had done the same.

He was too afraid to fight, too scared to move a single muscle.

"KERAN!", Hawke shouted, even before his brain had finished processing all that information.

And then the boy did move, and Garrett wished he hadn't.

The panicking knight tried to cast a Smite but lost his focus, and something went wrong; the holy light was weak and had no direction. Instead of targeting just the abomination it affected everyone present. To Garrett it felt like a warm, invigorating breeze that dispelled the oppressive atmosphere of the Harrowing chamber for a short while.

Next to him his First Enchanter yelled and crumpled to the floor as the Smite set his blood on fire.

Garrett caught him when he fell, and this time Orsino was too weak to reject his touch. The knight pressed to delicate body to his chest, ignoring the elf's painful hiss as his spiked gauntlets dug into his skin. The mage gulped in air like a stranded fish, like his lungs refused to process the oxygen in the room. Long fingers (real ones, not ghostly otherworldly ones) reached for Hawke, tried to cling to his breastplate, to his neck, but they couldn't hold on to anything. Both of his own hands moved to Orsino's back, holding him close and holding him upright.

 

_So light._

Much lighter than Hawke had imagined. The black robes suggested the man was slender even for an elf, but right now it felt like Garrett was holding on to more silk and velvet than flesh and bones.

White hair tickled his throat, unbelievably ( _unnaturally_ ) soft and smooth against his skin.

"Commander!"

It was instinct that made him draw his sword just in time to block a claw aiming straight for his head. The blade cut through bone, sliced part of the monster's thumb off but got stuck somewhere in the middle of its hand; Hawke tried and failed to pull it free again.

It was also instinct that made him pull Orsino closer instead of pushing him away, which left him in a disadvantageous position: His dominant right hand supported the elf's back, leaving Hawke with his weaker left arm to wield his sword and keep the abomination at bay. It snarled at him, its face a mixture of pain and hatred.

A multitude of dark, brown freckles served as a reminder that this face did indeed belong to Sophie once, but other than that there was no resemblance.

Before either of them had a chance to attempt another attack the combined power of four Smites brought the creature to its knees. Garrett used that opportunity yank his sword out of the monster's flesh with an angry cry and stumbled backwards. The extra weight of the elf's body caused him to lose his balance; he fell and landed on his back. Just as he looked up again two swords skewered the abomination's chest.

This time he let go of Orsino and switched his sword to his other hand before drawing his shield as well.

By the time he had righted himself the whole ordeal was already over.

Karras and Alrik had been the ones to finich the creature off; they stood over its disfigured corpse that was now missing its head. Karras sneered at the sight, whereas Alrik looked down with disgust.

A few steps away from them Cullen and Thrask knelt next to Keran's lifeless body.

Garrett's mind went completely white at the sight.

He saw a pool of blood beneath the boy, saw his shattered armor and the bloody, sticky mass where his stomach used to be. He ran over to them as fast as his legs would carry him and dropped to his knees as he reached them. His voice failed him as he tried to call out to Keran.

He couldn't think.

The boy was still alive but the wound was bad; the other two knights pressed their hands to it to keep the blood and other stuff from flowing out, and they were drenched in their comrade's blood up to their elbows. Between their hands and the torn flesh Garrett could see – no, he didn't want to think about just what it was that pulsed and contracted beneath Cullen's fingers. The smell nearly made him retch; it was a struggle to keep from vomiting.

He just couldn't _think_.

Someone shouted orders, but it wasn't Garrett. He didn't recognize the voice.

He saw and heard and felt and his brain registered everything, but nothing made sense to him.

Keran's face was as white as a sheet, as if all of his blood had already left his body to form the puddle they were kneeling in. His mouth gaped open in shock, and his eyes stared up at the ceiling without really seeing anything.

There was just so much blood. It was black rather than red, and stickier than Garrett remembered blood to be.

He had to do something, anything; but what could he do?

He didn't know the first thing about first aid.

None of them did.

There were templars. They had mages for that.

Mages. Healer.

"Karras, we need a Spirit Healer!" he shouted without lifting his eyes from the dying boy. There was no time to consider whether the knight would obey this order.

Garrett placed his hands on the boy's bloody abdomen but didn't dare to apply much pressure. Even through his gauntlets he could feel –

"Take your hands away, I can't see."

He looked up and met bright green eyes.

"Orsino, I – _please_ ", Hawke whispered.

There was nothing else he could say, no other words he remembered at the moment.

With a nod the mage got to work, or tried to anyway, but the day had taken its toll on him: The small blue light surrounding his hands that accompanied the weaving of a healing spell was weak and flickered in and out of existence.

Orsino was a Force Mage, not a Spirit Healer. This didn't come to him naturally.

And Keran's wounds weren't healing, the blood didn't stop flowing. They were losing him.

"No, do something! Do something, damn it! Save him! You're a mage, aren't you?! Then use your magic already!", someone to Garrett's right shouted. He raised his head and saw Cullen's face. The Knight-Captain had completely lost his usual calm composure; he was frantic, desperately trying to do whatever he could to save the boy, even though he was probably just as clueless as Garrett.

Seeing him like that made Hawke realize something.

_Cullen was right. Cullen was right and I was wrong – and Keran paid for it._

Hawke had never felt so ashamed of himself in his life.

 

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

Garrett would make one last mistake that night.

It was a little thing, a moment of carelessness, of inattention that would have no immediate repercussions; but months later Garrett would regret it just as much as anything else he did that night.

When Karras returned with the Circle's two spirit healers in tow Alrik reached for Orsino's arm to get him to move away from Keran's body so the two women could get to work. The elf hissed and yanked himself free, nearly stumbling over the hem of his robes in his urgency to get away from the knight.

_"Don't touch me"_ , he snarled. " _I am not one of your tranquil!"_

Garrett missed this little exchange because he was still clinging to a boy's dead body.

 

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

The First Enchanter's office was one of the few rooms within the tower that had a window. One could see the whole courtyard from there, the sea, and – at the very end of the horizon, so far away that one couldn't be sure whether it was more than a mirage – the City of Chains. Or at least part of the Viscount's Keep, anyway.

The weeping statues cast long shadows in the morning sun, and Hawke thought he could see a few Tranquil milling about down there already, even though it was just a few minutes after sunrise. They were diligent like that.

Diligent and docile. That was all they were.

Sophie could be down there, too, if things had gone differently. The thought came unbidden, and Hawke wasn't sure whether he should be glad or sad that she wasn't. There was no simple answer to that question.

Garrett had no idea why he had come to Orsino's office. He hadn't thought much about it. It had seemed obvious, in a way; he had spent the bigger part of the last 24 hours in the First Enchanter's presence, so Hawke had come to him again after he had realized that Keran wouldn't come back to life no matter how long he sat in the infirmary and held his cold hand. The spirit healers had sent him away eventually, told him to get some rest. Dawn had come by the time they finally got him to move.

There was no way Hawke could go to sleep, not after what had happened.

Resting, sleeping meant inactivity, meant time to _think_ , and he couldn't do that right now. Working, keeping himself occupied was the logical solution, and he had come down to his office to do just that.

Orsino had probably intended to do the same; but somehow they had ended up in Orsino's office, looking down on the Gallows' courtyard.

The elf had neither welcomed him nor tried to send him away; he hadn't even acknowledged Garrett's presence. They stood right next to each other, close enough that they would probably bump shoulders if Hawke moved just a little, but they tried their hardest not to look at each other.

After some time Orsino broke the silence. "I am sorry for your loss."

"Me too. For yours, I mean. I am sorry. Damn."

Orsino nodded.

That was all they had to say to each other right now.

Garrett should go now and leave Orsino to his own devices. To the mage he was an enemy; Hawke wouldn't be surprised if the elf blamed him for Sophie's death.

Garrett blamed himself as well.

Even though he didn't want to think about it there was nothing else to focus on; Orsino's silent contemplation did nothing to distract him from his own grim thoughts.

He kept wondering where he went wrong, what he could have done to save both or at least one of them. Thousands of different scenarios came to mind, but none of them sounded right. So many things that could have gone differently, so many little things that might have changed anything. If he had stepped in, if he had been faster, if he had been smarter, if he had been stronger, if someone else had been Knight-Commander... too many ifs.

One of his first acts as Knight-Commander, and it had gotten two people killed.

The only thing he could do now was try to learn from his mistakes, to make sure he wouldn't repeat them. But what should he do differently? In a few weeks he would face another Harrowing; what should he do to keep this from happening again?

"I still can't believe it", he said eventually, still lost in his own thoughts. "It doesn't make sense. I knew the possibility existed but – I just can't believe they _both_ died. That rarely ever happens. It's just –"

He had wanted to say that it wasn't fair, but he stopped himself. It sounded dumb, like he was a young boy that hoped his reality would change just because he wanted it to. He was babbling and he knew it. What did one _say_ in such a situation?

"I thought everything would be fine, you know? It's routine, after all. It shouldn't have ended like this. With a different Knight-Commander it wouldn't have ended like this."

"No", Orsino agreed. "Meredith would have killed Sophie five hours into her trial. She would have sacrificed her for the sake of her knights. Do you regret your decision to let her live?"

Garrett turned to face him. The mage, on the other hand, was still looking down on the courtyard. He had spoken to the window, like he was talking to himself.

"I don't know", Garrett answered truthfully. "That doesn't sound right, either. If I had known for certain that Sophie wasn't going to make it... But I didn't. Still, it was the only other option I had left at the time and maybe I should've... I don't know, I just don't know."

"You did right by her, and I thank you for that."

"Not that it did her much good. Nothing I did today did anyone much good."

"That's not entirely true."

Orsino turned around to face him.

For some reason the elf looked incredibly old right now.

 "You saved my life."

He said matter-of-factly, and not at all like he was pleased about this development.

Garrett hadn't expected anything else. It was his duty to protect Orsino, just like it had been his duty to protect Sophie and Keran. The fact that the First Enchanter was still alive was proof that he hadn't screwed up completely.

He didn't know what to say.

"As Knight-Commander it falls to you to protect as many of the Circle's inhabitants as you can, mages and templars alike. But no matter what you do, some people just can't be saved. Mourn their loss, take your time, but do keep going for the sake of the others."

Those were the exact same words Garrett's old Commander had sent him off to Kirkwall with. Hawke hadn't forgotten about them, he knew that both men were right; but he didn't _feel_ it. He just couldn't let it go, not so soon after it happened. It still felt like he failed them, like there had been a better option he didn't know about, like he should have done something differently.

He was strangely restless; he wanted to go out and do something, fight something, hit something until his strength failed him and he collapsed from exhaustion.

"How can you be so _calm_?", Garrett asked after a while. The mage had lost one of his people, too. He didn't know what Sophie had meant to him, but they had probably been closer than he and Keran. At least they had known each other longer.

And yet Orsino just stood here. He looked a little depressed, but nowhere near as distraught as Hawke felt.

"Whereas you came to this Circle three weeks ago I have acted as the Gallows' First Enchanter for nearly ten years. Sophie isn't the first apprentice I've lost, and I doubt she will be the last", he answered.

Garrett hadn't thought about that.

Ten years sounded like an eternity. Ten years ago he hadn't even joined the Order yet.

"And after a while you just got used to it?", Hawke wondered.

Orsino thought about it for a while. "I wouldn't put it that way. No, I don't think one can ever get used to it. But after a few years you realize that you can rage and fight all you want without making a difference. You try to numb yourself to it but that doesn't work at all. Today I'm not nearly as heartbroken about their deaths as I used to be when I was younger. Now I'm just tired afterwards. It is essentially the same feeling."

"I think I get that", Garrett said, even though he didn't.

By now most of the Tranquil had finished laying out their wares and waited patiently for their first customers. To Garrett this was a peaceful scene, an essential part of life in the Circle, and as natural as the sun rising.

He wondered what the mage next to him saw down there.

"Where is the Knight-Captain going?", the elf asked, and pointed at the lone templar walking to the harbor.

"He has a day off. I just couldn't take his accusatory stare anymore."

"I see."

The conversation threatened to dissolve into silence again, so Garrett kept talking to fill the void.

"He requested to be relieved from his duties. Permanently. Doesn't want to be Knight-Captain with me as his Commander anymore. I don't know what I'm going to do with him yet. Maybe transfer him to another Circle, maybe back to Fereldan. But first I have to find a replacement for him."

"That might be for the best."

"Who would you choose as his replacement? Any suggestions?"

"As long as you don't choose Ser Alrik I am not going to complain."


	5. The mage underground (part one)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you remember Mettin and Agatha?   
> You can only meet them during a pro-templar playthrough, after siding with Meredith at the start of Act III. Then you get an evil side quest where the two of them help you to kill the last members of Anders' mage underground. Mettin is... slightly more bloodthirsty than Agatha.  
> My Hawke was in a rivalmance with Anders at the time. That was one of the many things during that playthrough that broke my heart.

 

The mage underground

 

 

_If Malcolm chooses the Orlesian ship, the mage known as Anders will forever be alone with the voices inside his head._

_The abomination will come to Kirkwall to aid his former lover, start a free clinic in Darktown and find allies for his cause –  but without a friend to support him he will eventually succumb to the spirit of Vengeance._

_And yet even in this world he will encounter Malcolm's child, the one person who might have been able to free him from his demons. They will meet during the mage's fourth year in Kirkwall –  and when the time comes for Garrett to choose a side Anders' existence will be an important factor in his decision._

_That much, at least, can be considered fate._

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

It was the second time a woman cried in Garrett's presence, merely one day after that had happened to him for the first time. Again he wasn't ready for it – and this time he was alone with the grieving woman, this time he couldn't safely retreat to the other end of the room and delegate the job of comforting her to his First Enchanter.

It wasn't like that one night in the apprentices' dorm, and this woman was nothing like Sophie. She didn't cry silently into her hands and accepted her fate: She wailed, _keened_ , and bombarded Garrett with questions and insults.

Very slowly Hawke moved backwards like he was trying to put some distance between himself and a potentially dangerous animal. When his back hit the wall after a few steps he felt strangely cornered, even though he had no reason to.

He had to say something, do something, make her stop somehow, but he couldn't think of anything.

So he kept repeating the only thing that came to mind.

"I'm sorry."

It sounded stupid and meaningless even in his own head, but there was nothing else he could say. An empty phrase like that wouldn't make a difference, wouldn't give her peace; it probably just fueled her anger.

She accused him of – of what exactly? Hawke could barely understand her above the sobbing. At one point she started hitting the table, as well as Garrett's breastplate with her bare fist, again and again, until her hand was red and swollen. He merely stood there and waited.

"I'm sorry."

This was all he had to offer.

The worst part about the whole situation was that Hawke had forgotten her name. She had introduced herself when she let him in, but Garrett had been distracted – he had come to the small hovel expecting to speak with Keran's father, not his little sister.

"I'm sorry."

Ever since he had entered the house he regretted not taking the easy way out: Sending a formal letter of condolence to inform Keran's family about his death. It would have taken approximately ten minutes to write one of those, consisting of the essential information about Keran's demise, a few sentences praising his services rendered for the Order, and perhaps a few compassionate paragraphs near the end.

And that would have been the end of it. No crying woman, no distressing questions he wasn't allowed to answer (the worst of them being: "What exactly happened to him? How did he die?" He couldn't tell her, wasn't allowed to explain, couldn't speak of it to anyone who wasn't a templar or a Chantry sister, couldn't even admit that it was entirely his fault. He had to say that the boy died fulfilling his duties, that templars were always at risk, that it was an accident – one that could have been prevented – and leave it at that, but of course that explanation raised more questions than it answered).

"I'm sorry."

With a simple letter this could have been avoided.

Meredith used to work like that; it saved a lot of time, time that could be invested into watching over the templars that were still alive.

But Garrett felt like he had to come personally, like he owed at least this much to Keran and his family. It had seemed appropriate; maybe, he had hoped, his presence would ease some of the family's pain.

Orsino was doing the same for Sophie's family right now: The Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter had taken the same boat to the city and had parted ways afterwards. Orsino had left for Hightown and Garrett for Lowtown.

And Orsino had done this for years, for every apprentice that had failed his Harrowing, for every apostate that had fled from the Circle and had been killed on the run – and for every mage the templars turned tranquil. He had visited all of their families, every single one of them, whether they lived in the Free Marches or somewhere else, even the ones that despised their child for carrying the curse of magic. Not even Meredith had dared to take this right from him, even though it was more of a responsibility, a burden. A punishment even. Garrett realized that now.

"I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry."

Keran's sister didn't listen. She kept shouting, screaming, hitting his armor like it would make a difference. Like it mattered what she felt, what Garrett felt, like she could make his brother come back to life just by wishing it.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

He had never been this reluctant to return to the Circle. Subconsciously he averted his eyes when the Gallows' weeping statues came into view. He had never gotten sick on a boat ride before, but now he felt the bile rising in his throat.

The thought of facing Orsino and talking about their respective visits filled him with dread.

Cullen would be waiting for him in the courtyard. Cullen, who was still his second-in-command, who was still the one he had the most dealings with apart from Orsino, and who would never forgive him for Keran's death. Garrett had searched vigorously for a replacement, but so far he hadn't found a suitable candidate. He was wary of the other knights, didn't want to risk to place his faith in the wrong person. He couldn't trust his own judgment anymore.

And until the end of the month he would have to decide another apprentice's fate.

Just like Sophie this particular mage had scraped by until now, neither displaying the required talent to face the Harrowing nor proving dangerous enough to justify the performance of the Rite. Now that he had come of age a decision had to be made – but this time there were no two options to consider. Tranquility was out of the question; Garrett would have to schedule a Harrowing, and the boy would have to survive.

Because Hawke had spoken about it with the boy's father, and the man had begged for his son's life. He had gone down on his knees in front of Garrett and pleaded for the apprentice; Garrett had been so shocked that he had made the stupid promise to save the boy. No other outcome would be acceptable now.

For the apprentice in question was Emile de Launcet, and his father was the Viscount of Kirkwall.

"Maker help me", he sighed.

Instead of commenting on his superior's mood, the knight rowing him across the sea flashed him a bright smile, probably in an attempt to cheer him up.

The man rarely talked. He had been told that when he did, most of the things he said didn't make a whole lot of sense anymore.

The lyrium had nearly eroded his mind by now.

Every once in a while a shadow of his past self emerged just to disappear again – but most of the time he was nothing but a gentle, harmless man that recited random passages from the Chant and followed the other knights around like an obedient puppy in the hopes of receiving lyrium from them.

"Thank you, Ser Roderick", Hawke said after they had reached the Gallows and the knight helped him off the boat. Again the knight grinned, and waved to Hawke before he turned around to look after his boat.

Seeing him like that reminded Garrett of another task that needed focusing on. This one wasn't nearly as unpleasant as the others and didn't involve any moral dilemma; but neither would it endear him to any of his soldiers. No matter whether he was successful or not he would merely succeed in gaining more enemies.

He needed to cut his knights' illegal lyrium supply off.

 

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

Just like mages feared tranquility Hawke dreaded becoming an empty shell like Ser Roderick more than death itself. Perhaps that was why he had noticed that the Gallows' number of lyrium-addled templars was significantly higher than that of any other Circle he had ever visited, even though they appeared to receive no extraordinary amount of dust, at least on paper. For two weeks Garrett had watched over the lyrium supplies and could finally confirm that the numbers in his books and the actual supplies added up, thus eliminating the possibility of theft.

The obvious conclusion was that someone was smuggling the stuff in and distributing it to his knights directly.

So far his search for possible suspects had been fruitless. Anyone could be behind it: Some of his knights, one of Kirkwall's numerous thieves' guilds looking for easy coin, or even a group of mages hoping such an act would curry favor with the templars.

It would be foolish to hope for his knights' support, and Garrett couldn't blame them. Every templar knew that ingesting any more lyrium than the doses the Circle supplied was detrimental to one's physical and mental health. But the dust was highly addictive, and the small vials they were given every three days were not nearly enough to satisfy any of them. A few years off one's life seemed like a small price to pay when the alternative was to bear the effects of withdrawal. Garrett had his own share of experiences with that.

He understood his knights' reasons – but as their Commander he couldn't condone their actions. A Commander had to watch out for his people even if they wouldn't appreciate his meddling.

He would have to investigate in secret and without relying on his subordinates if he wanted to avoid alerting the ones responsible to the fact that he was on their trail. And as long as he didn't have any definite leads he would have to consider every possibility, hoping to find something that would give him some insight.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"I still don't get what we're doing down here", Ser Mettin complained when they reached another dead end. "We checked the old tunnels a dozen times under the old Commander. Most of them are blocked, and the ones that aren't will only lead us around in circles."

"The Knight-Commander merely wishes to ensure that no mage can use these roads to escape the Circle. It is our duty to be vigilant", Ser Agatha intoned. She, too, did not seem overly eager to explore the damp, dark tunnels below the Gallows, but obviously loathed agreeing with Mettin even more than being stuck down here.

Mettin snorted. "It's not like any of the robes would go down here, anyway. To get to these tunnels they would have to go through the basement, past the dungeons and the Tranquility chamber. Most of them wouldn't want to be caught dead loitering around those places."

"If I remember correctly Ser Alrik claimed to have caught two mages not far from there."

"Frightened little children, crying for their mothers. Nothing we should be worrying about."

Garrett was starting to grow tired of their bickering. He had been told the two fought well together, and they probably did – or maybe Karras had merely recommended them both for this job to annoy Garrett. It didn't sound completely unlikely.

"Let's head back to the last intersection and take another route from there", he suggested.

He led their little party, and turned around just in time to catch Mettin roll his eyes in annoyance.

"Come on, just think of it as an adventure!", Hawke added cheerfully.

Admittedly he was exhausted as well. They had spent the last two hours underground, following the roads below the dungeons in the hopes of finding one path that would lead outside. The tunnels had been dug ages ago, by desperate slaves trying to create a road to freedom. It wasn't impossible that one of them might have been successful; judging by the smell of it the path they had been following until now could have led to the sewers. If such a path existed it would be the ideal route for lyrium smugglers: A secret passage leading from some shady part of Darktown straight into the tower. The smugglers wouldn't even have to disguise themselves or their merchandise, they could just walk straight from the harbor to their customers.

Of course he hadn't told his knights about that possibility. They might have tried to lead him in circles on purpose if they knew what he was really looking for. Thankfully neither Agatha nor Ser Roderick, the fourth and final member of their small party, seemed to question the purpose of their being here, and Mettin was merely complaining.

Garrett had found a crude drawing in the Knight-Commander's office that depicted all the tunnels below the Circle – but during their expedition they had already come across two paths that weren't supposed to exist according to Meredith's map. They hadn't been able to follow a third route they had found – it had been little more than a small hole in the wall, and none of them had been able to fit through with their heavy armor. They would have to return on another day with lighter equipment.

So far they had only explored the tunnels below the Gallows' east wing. Most of them had been deserted, but some had been the home of giant spiders until Hawke's party had waltzed through. Garrett had never even seen such monsters; when one of them had jumped him for the first time he had dropped his shield in surprise. The others had laughed about it afterwards, like dealing with these ridiculously huge freaks of nature was routine for a templar in Kirkwall.

It probably was, considering they dispatched the creatures effortlessly whereas Hawke was struggling to keep up with their many legs.

He was suddenly very glad that he had decided to take the risk of bringing three knights along. Going all by himself, like he had originally intended, would have been a disaster.

No one had been injured as of yet but his men were starting to grow tired, and the tunnels were a maze; soon they would have to return to the tower or risk getting lost down here.

Upon returning to the intersection Garrett consulted his map to check which path they had yet to take. His group gathered around him and Agatha brought her torch down to eye level, enabling him to see more clearly.

"I think we should-", he began, but stopped short.

He felt it before he saw or heard anything – felt it in his blood, in his bones, at his very core. It was just a small sensation, like a sudden cold breeze, except that he didn't feel on his skin but _underneath_ it.He knew what it meant, what the lyrium in his system was trying to tell him, and with that realization came a rush of adrenaline that made him draw his shield just in time.

_Magic._

He had barely managed to block the fire spell flung in his direction when he had to dodge another that had been aimed straight at his head. With a hiss Garrett retreated into the tunnel closest to him and pressed himself close to the wall. Judging by their reactions the others hadn't been quite as lucky.

Roderick screamed; he sounded like he was in pain, and Garrett risked to stick his head out to check on him – an error in judgment that nearly cost him his head. A well-timed spell missed him just barely – he could smell burnt hair and the heat near his face. His beard had been singed.

"We are under attack!", Agatha announced. Simultaneously the four of them drew their swords, acting on instinct.

"Dowse the torches!", Hawke ordered and did the same with his. Soon his knights followed suit and they were all trapped in darkness along with their attackers. Still, this situation was preferable to being an easy target due to their light sources.

And it served to grant him some time to contemplate the situation he had found himself in.

Why were there mages down here, anyway? He was fairly certain he wouldn't have allowed Orsino to schedule an excursion into the lower parts of the Circle. And why were they attacking? There had to be a misunderstanding, maybe they hadn't seen the templar armor, maybe they had thought Hawke and his party were spiders or something, maybe it was an accident, maybe the spell hadn't even been aimed at them...

Garrett just couldn't think of any reason why a mage would attack a templar inside the Circle, as the consequence of such an act was certain death.

"We need the Knight-Commander alive! Hurry and kill the rest!"

There was the sound of another spell shooting past him, and somewhere near him a man groaned. Magical fire had illuminated the narrow tunnel briefly, but it was gone before Garrett had a chance to see what had transpired. He could only hope that the others had managed to take cover the way he had done. An ice spell hit the stone to Garrett's right and caused part of the wall to collapse, nearly trapping him beneath rock and debris.

"Stop it! If the tunnels cave in neither of us will get out of here!", he shouted – and hoped he didn't sound as uncertain and confused as he felt.

"Apostates!", someone yelled. "We mustn't let them escape, Commander!"

Apostates? _Inside_ the tower?

Technically that couldn't be right.

None of this made sense.

One of his knights cast an aimless Silence. Either it hit its intended target (but then Garrett doubted their attackers had been stupid enough to enter the templars' admittedly limited range) or the mages had realized that shooting spells aimlessly wasn't going to accomplish anything except burying them all alive – for a while everything was quiet behind Garrett.

Maybe they were retreating, or merely contemplated their options; now that they had lost the element of surprise they were at a disadvantage, like every mage that went up against a templar. Retreating would be the safest option, but if they were that smart they wouldn't have attacked them in the first place. They probably wondered whether summoning a mage light was worth the risk of revealing their position to their enemies.

But Hawke and his men were templars. They had been trained for this.

They didn't even need to think consider the best course of action. They already knew.

They didn't need a light to find an apostate in the dark. They had other ways.

A simple Cleanse disabled any magical effects his attackers might have cast – but it had the added advantage of revealing three big and one small mana sources close to Garrett. It didn't enable him to see them, but he could _feel_ them for a short moment; the lyrium in his blood reacted to their powers.

"Four of them!", he announced, and was immediately corrected by Agatha: "Five! Another's already trying to get away, Commander! Your orders?!"

She sounded close, so Garrett dared to whisper: "Is everyone fit for battle? Anyone injured?"

The knight swallowed hard and whispered back: "Roderick is down, I think, but I'm not sure. Mettin is trying to flank them."

There were outnumbered, then, their options limited.

Still Garrett shouted: " Take them in for questioning if you can!"

_Kill them if you have to._

It was an easy decision to make: He chose his own life and the lives of his knights over the lives of strangers that had attacked them for no reason at all.

His remaining knights voiced their approval, and Garrett got back up on his feet. Sticking close to the wall he relied on his Cleanse to lead him to his targets – and stumbled right over some rock. He knew the location of the apostates, but that was all his templar skills allowed him to do. He still didn't know the location of _anything else_ in the darkness; he couldn't see where his knights were, or walls, or tunnels, or rocks, or even spiders that might decide to creep up on him. It was a strategy best used on open ground when one didn't have to dodge quite as many obstacles; in these narrow tunnels it wouldn't be quite as effective. Still, it would give them an advantage, and enough time to sneak up on his targets.

In close combat the mages wouldn't stand a chance.

He kept going, the sound of his heavy armor announcing his advance, and carefully climbed over the rocks. Agatha reached them before he did; there was a surprised gasp and the telltale sound of metal hitting wood as someone tried to block the swing of a broadsword with a cheap staff.

The apostates panicked, and everything dissolved into chaos.

It was the first times in months he faced a true battle, against the enemy he was trained to face, instead of boring mock battles with recruits or fending off overgrown arachnoids. This was different, this was a lot more real in a way.

It was not the bloodshed he enjoyed – it was the thrill of the hunt, the test of his skills.

When he fought an apostate he experienced that certain combination of fear and excitement that made a man feel he was alive. He had nearly forgotten what that felt like: Relying only on his instincts to guide him, fighting with his life on the line. It took everything he had and yet it left him satisfied with himself at the end of the day. It was impossible to describe the feeling.

_(In his memory the hunted man is smiling. His expression neither fits his words nor his grave mood; the man is always smiling and laughing. "They doesn't have to be a reason. They just_ enjoy _it, Garrett. Hunting us is like a sport to them.")_

What happened next was a blur disconnected images; everything happened at once, or that was what it felt like. Garrett had stopped thinking and merely acted.

A bright mage light flickered to life and for the briefest second Hawke looked a young woman straight in the eye: He saw her fear, the sheer terror in her face, before his Cleanse and another person's Smite plunged them all into darkness once more. Someone, somewhere cried out in pain, but Garrett had no time to focus on that: All around him people were shouting, screaming, countering the other group's magic with their own, fighting for their very lives.

A stray spell hit him. For some reason he barely felt the impact, but his ears were ringing and there was a strange taste in his mouth.

He tackled the woman to the ground simply by running straight into her, causing her to drop her weapon with a strangled gasp. Forcing the girl's hands behind her back he disabled her magic with a well-aimed Silence. He placed his sword's blade against the woman's thin throat. She yelled something, pleaded with him, and he relaxed the grip on his sword as she announced her surrender.

Every once in a while a stray spell lit up the darkness and for a second he could see something: A silver blade reflecting the light, Agatha's determined expression, a wounded person on the ground, an apostate whose face was hidden behind long black hair, his own shield, Mettin's shining armor, a demon's grey hide.

"Look out! There's at least one blood mage among them!"

In moments like these Garrett forgets the true reason he chose to become a templar. He forgets that the hunt is the means and not a purpose. He forgets there was a cause, a task he needed to accomplish, an answer he sought – in moments like these Garrett is just chasing the nightmare of his worst failure.

The only thing he sees is the shadow of the hunted man whose smile never faltered.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Hypothetically speaking, "interrogating" a mage was simple.

As long as the templar was determined and didn't care for the consequences of his actions he could get every mage to talk.

If questioning them didn't work out the knight could resort to threatening to hurt the mage, their friends, or even their families. The next step would be torture, physical or psychological, depending on the preference of the interrogator. The whip, the blade, fire or water would make some people talk; but a few weeks down in the dungeons in solitary confinement would break even the strongest man.

And on the rare occasion those methods  failed, if the information they were after could save lives, if the Knight-Commander ordered it and if the First Enchanter consented – then the templar could perform the Rite of Tranquility and _order_ the former mage to talk.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The battle in the tunnels below the tower left Garrett with two prisoners. Two other mages had to be killed, the fifth one had managed to escape. It wasn't the ideal outcome but overall Garrett was quite satisfied with himself.

All of his knights had survived.

Himself and Mettin had sustained some minor injuries and Roderick was still being treated by the spirit healers – but all of them would live.

Garrett had feared the worst after the battle when their captives lit the tunnels up again and he saw Ser Roderick lying in a puddle of his own blood.

All of a sudden he was back in the Harrowing chamber again, looking down on Keran's corpse.

He hadn't seen the fourth member of their party since the attack started, and he remembered what Agatha had said before they retaliated. So he was almost certain he would see Ser Roderick bleeding out, slowly slipping away while Garrett stood there and watched, unable to do anything to help him. He thought about Keran, and he remembered pressing his hands to the boy's bleeding wound, and he remembered how helpless he had felt – he had _never stopped thinking about it_ ever since it happened.

He wouldn't be able to go through that again, not yet, not right now.

Maybe not ever.

For a second he was about to turn the other way and run back into the tunnels.

But after a quick examination Agatha determined that the man would live. She stayed behind with him while Garrett and Mettin escorted their prisoners to the tower and gathered a few knights to carry Roderick up as well.

His two prisoners were the young frightened woman he had overpowered and, strangely enough, the group's leader.

Dirty blond hair covered most of his face, and the stench of darktown hung to his clothes. Even the formless robes he wore couldn't disguise the fact that he was thin enough to warrant the assumption that he wasn't getting regular meals. There was something about him that told Garrett this man would rather die than cooperate with the templars.

He sent some men who volunteered for the job to interrogate them both, stressing that the prisoners should be interrogated, not tortured; there would still be time to consider other options should that first approach fail.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Three days later they had yet to retrieve any substantial information – but what they had found out so far was worrying, to say the least.

Apparently the apostates they had captured were part of a larger group that tried to break other mages out of the Circle. The day they had run into Hawke they had come to free one of the Circle's apprentices – they wouldn't say which one.

But if what the woman had admitted was true they were behind most escapes of the last four years – and they were responsible for the cold-blooded murders of at least twenty knights. Garrett and his group weren't the only ones that had found themselves ambushed by apostates like them, but they were among the few who had gotten away with their lives. These apostates didn't act in self-defense like most runaways that were cornered by knights – they were the ones ambushing the templars, killing them for – for what, really? To secure a safe route for their return? To ensure they wouldn't be followed? For revenge? It made no sense.

That was all his knights had discovered; but Garrett could have read about most of that in Meredith's old reports or heard about it from the knights who had their own experiences with the renegades. What he needed were names, locations of hideouts, plans for the next weeks or months, which routes they took, and most important of all: Whether they had help on the inside.

One of the reasons they had been this successful up until now was that they had found a way to destroy the apprentices' phylacterions before they freed them. But the small blood vials were safely locked behind a door that required two sets of keys for it to open – one of them was in Garrett's possession, the other in Orsino's. That system was supposed to be impeccable: Neither Knight-Commander nor First Enchanter should be able to get in without the other's consent. Garrett just didn't know how a group of people living in Kirkwall's sewer system managed to pull it off.

The captured woman didn't know either.

The group was careful like that: They didn't trust anyone, least of all each other. They used fake names, kept their faces hidden when they met, never stayed in the same place for longer than a few weeks. No one knew how many people were a part of the mage underground, no one knew how many non-mages supported them, no one knew how to contact the others.

No one except the supposed leader, and that guy hadn't said anything. At all.

So the only thing Garrett had managed to ascertain was that these people were dangerous and a threat to him and his knights. But to find out how to stop them he needed more information.

There had to be another way to get him to talk, some sort of strategy they could employ – and there was, as his knights insisted on pointing out. There were other means of interrogation, after all.

The problem was that most of them didn't sit well with Garrett – and his conscience would probably object to them: His personified conscience that currently stood in front of his desk and berated him enthusiastically.

"I overheard some of your knights talking. Who are these mages you keep prisoner? Why did no one tell me about this?"

"As of yet I'm not quite sure who they are. They won't tell me their names. And I've locked them up because they set my beard on fire. See this spot? I don't think it will grow back...", Garrett explained to his First Enchanter.

Most people attributed it to his Orlesian upbringing, but Hawke was actually quite vain: His beard, or rather the lack thereof actually depressed him. He had spent hours in front of a mirror after the battle, hoping against hope to be able to save the rakish look he had grown accustomed to, but to no avail: His partial beard was a pitiful sight, and there was no other option but to shave it off completely. Garrett felt strangely naked without it.

Orsino did not appear to be interested in the state of his facial hair, which bothered Hawke for more than one reason.

The elf kept ignoring the chair Hawke had offered to him twice already; apparently standing and walking around the office was a better way to vent his anger. Or perhaps he merely enjoyed looking down on a Knight-Commander.

"You imprisoned them, and what else? What did you do to them? Lead the way, I demand to see them at once!"

"I... don't think that would be a good idea", Garrett wondered out loud.

He knew that his interrogators had relied on intimidation so far to get the apostates talking, and they were positive that their strategy was working; but if the captives saw another mage shouting the Knight-Commander into submission they might start to reconsider their position.

And here Garrett had thought that he was getting along well with Orsino. Just a few days ago they had had not only one, but _two_ completely civil conversations – he had thought they were starting to develop mutual respect for one another.

" _You don't think?"_ , the elf snarled and gripped the sides of Garrett's desk. "It doesn't matter what you think. I will ask the spirit healers to examine them, and if I find just one injury that might hint at abuse-"

"I assure you, they are fine. Nobody's hurt them. The only thing I did was sent Ser Mettin to question them."

" _Ser Mettin?!_ You set _Ser Mettin_  on them?! _"_

Oh Maker. Now Garrett knew he would never hear the end of this.

"Look", he cut Orsino off, "wait, calm down. If you listen to me I will tell you the whole story. Afterwards you can decide whether you still want to yell at me."

And Garrett explained everything, from his first encounter with the apostates below the tower and how they attacked him without provocation, to his suspicion that they had help from someone inside the Circle.

When he was finished Orsino had slumped into the chair and was looking down on the floor. The elf had been silent for more ten minutes.

Up until now the elf had thought that the captives were Circle mages, protected by Chantry law. But apostates didn't have that kind of protection: They defied the Chantry, had murdered good knights, and had blood mages in their ranks. No one would question Hawke should he decide to execute them on the spot. Orsino could try to interfere on their behalf, but in the end he wouldn't have a say in the matter.

And if the prisoners wouldn't talk Garrett would have to find another way to identify their allies inside the Circle – and that would involve a thorough investigation. He might even be forced to restrict the rights of the Circle mages again – just like Meredith had done when she had been in a similar position. Garrett couldn't help it; he had vowed to never let one of his knights die on him again.

But what did his First Enchanter think about all of this?

Garrett gave him some time to get his thoughts in order, then he spoke up again.

"I need your help with this."

The elf looked up, wary of him. "And what do you expect me to do?"

"Talk to them, earn to their trust. Maybe they'll be more forthcoming when it's a mage they're talking to. Get the information I need."

"And what will you do then?"

"They can't be allowed to continue like this."

"Yes, but what does that mean? What will you do to the ones responsible? Kill them? Lock them up in the dungeons for the rest of their lives? Allow them to live in the Circle?"

"I haven't decided yet. But if they cooperate I will be lenient."

The elf fell silent again, lost in thought. Garrett wondered what his own involvement was in all of this. He couldn't believe that Orsino had had any involvement with the mage underground, but he might be sympathizing with them. Urging them to give up information to the templars probably felt like he was betraying his own people.

"This is the only way, Orsino. They nearly killed Ser Roderick, injured Mettin and myself. My knights will demand that I do something about it – if the prisoners won't talk I will have to find a way to _make_ them talk. Work with me here. Make them see reason. I'm sure they are more likely to cooperate with the First Enchanter than with the Knight-Commander."

Orsino laughed, then shook his head. "That's not how it works, you know."

"What do you mean?"

"To them, I am probably just as much of an enemy as you are. Most apostates despise other mages who accept the Circle as a necessity. You and me are both part of the same system."

"All the more reason for the two of us to stick together", Garrett countered.

When the elf didn't reply Garrett chose to beseech him one last time.

"You don't have to decide right now. Come to my office tomorrow morning, you can give me your answer then."

 

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


End file.
